Nottingham, the land of Robin Hood

Hi Mom,
Thank you for the email. It made me smile and laugh. I am sorry I haven’t written to you this week. Our internet is somewhat temperamental. Plus, we haven’t been in until pretty late and have been leaving pretty early. I guess I have some catching up to do.

 

The last time I wrote MaLese and I were walking out the door to have dinner with the family that had taken us to stake conference. The family is an American air force family. They lived in Japan for 7 years and are half way through a 2 year stint in England. Because they have so many members in their family they are renting a home off base. Their home is probably my favorite house (that I have seen) in England. First, it is surrounded by a mote. Most of the house was burned down a while back, but part of the house dates back to before the reign of Mary I. It was the home of the regional leader who opposed Mary and held her captive for a short time. The family was so kind; the oldest daughter will be attending BYU-Idaho in the fall. After dinner, the kids took MaLese and me on a walk. We went around the mote. Then, we toured the surrounding area via the old public foot paths. Some of these paths you would not be able to tell were paths unless you knew they were there. Still, we saw a number of hidden jewels. I even got to walk through a wheat field.

 

As a result of this trip, I had the worst allergic reaction I have ever had in my life (but it was worth it). We got home. I took a shower, and when I still resembled the elephant man in the morning MaLese went into town and bought me some Benedryl. Around noon, I felt up to going to the Archives. I guess I was the only one who held this opinion because our B&B lady advised me to keep on taking the allergy medicine when she saw me and MaLese linked her arm in mine and wouldn’t let go until we got to the archive. It was then that I realized the power of comparison. MaLese and our host compared me to what I was like when I wasn’t swollen and running a fever. I compared myself to how much better I was at noon the day after than I was when I went to bed the night before. Still, we took it easy on our way to the archive and by the time I went to bed I wasn’t swollen or running a fever.

 

MaLese and I discovered very quickly that Bury does not have emigration records. As a result, we analyzed our options. MaLese’s grandmother gave her a file on a family line from Nottingham a day or so before we left. We had been trying to find a day to visit the Nottingham archives. So, we set our alarm clock for 2 hours earlier than usual and caught a train up to the land of Robin Hood. 

 

We  decided to go based on the fact that MaLese felt a very strong impression that we needed to go. Oddly enough, I remembered that somewhere I had one ancestor from Nottingham, as well. When we reached the archives I searched through all of my PAFs and finally remembered that I had put together a list of my English ancestors and organized it by county at the beginning of winter semester. Then I found him: Robert Pennel, the father of Hannah Pennel, who married someone in Pennsylvania in the 1690s. This was my first encounter with anyone in my Bond line. It was also my first attempt to extend a colonial line. This is the first time that a family I am researching has jumped out of every record I looked at. After ascertaining that the parish recorded in PAF as the birth place of Robert did not exist I looked in the only other parish that sounded remotely similar to what was in PAF. The Pennel family are all over the place and can be found in the records back to the 1530s. I even found two wills for the family. Knowing the work that has been done on my colonial lines I was rather surprised at this, but after looking at the FHL holdings for the parish in question I realized that we don’t have the records in the US that are needed to research this line. It also dawned on me that if Hannah was married in Pennsylvania in the 1690s the family probably joined the Society of Friends (Quakers) before they emigrated. Apparently, the Nottingham Archives has a great collection of Quaker records, which I will be investigating tomorrow.

 

Hoping that this lucky streak would continue MaLese and I went to Norwich today. All of the Lowestoft records are held there and I was hoping for some bastardy bonds and rate books. I was not as fortunate. In fact, none of the poor law I needed exists any more. I found a good marriage index for Norfolk and learned more about Joseph Castleton and his history in the Wesleyan Methodist church, though, so the day was not a complete failure. I am glossing over the fact that we got lost in town, ended up walking in the wrong direction, and missed a connecting train on our trip home. All in all, I compared the day with my first trip to Lowestoft and suddenly today seemed to be a pretty good day.

 

I need to get up in 5 1/2 hours to catch our train for tomorrow, so I am going to bed. I love you and am glad you had such a fun day. 

 

Love you lots, 

 

Heather

Bury St. Edmunds 6-3-2007

Hi Mom,
I am sorry I cut off so abruptly from our IM conversation last night (for you the middle of the day). My internet connection died. Still, we have internet here sometimes, so at least I will be able to write more. For now, I guess I need to play catch up.

MaLese and I made it to Bury St. Edmunds! It is such a beautiful town. Gordon and Jean (one of the couples we stayed with in Ipswich) drove us here because they did not want us spending more money on the trains than we already are.

Margaret had arranged for us to stay with Gloria and Peter, but due to an incorrect email address and the death of Margaret’s mother Gloria and Peter did not know when we were coming until the day before we arrived. They were installing cabinets in Peter’s office, so they had moved all of his office paperwork into their spare room. As a result, they arranged for us to stay with Gordon and Jean for two nights. Gordon and Jean are two of the sweetest people I know. They asked us to dinner after we went to stay with Gloria and Peter. When they found out we were going to Bury they decided to drive us. When we arrived, Gordon and Jean inspected the B&B we are staying at and made sure to let us now we could come back to stay with them if we did not like it here.

Gloria and Peter were equally wonderful. They are the sweetest people. Peter is a genealogist, so he had great stories, as well as copies of the CRO catalogues for Suffolk and Essex. MaLese and I were overjoyed to see these and pretty much commandeered them for the week we were there. They fed us breakfast and would have fed us dinner if we hadn’t put our feet down. As it was, they let us use their kitchen to cook dinner and Gloria did our laundry (this is the first time our laundry has seen a washing machine in a month)! We have been washing things in sinks and bathtubs, so we felt like we arrived in heaven when she did it. She wouldn’t even let us think about doing it ourselves.

When I mentioned I wanted to write my church history paper on the saints and the early church in East Anglia Peter and Gloria started emailing and calling people in England, Canada and the United States to find me sources and stories for my paper. They are two of the most gracious individuals I have ever met. Gloria started joking that we would gain the epitaphs, “I don’t want to be an imposition” if we said it one more time. When we went to conference on Sunday she told us we could come back and stay with them if we did not like Bury. Leaving Gloria and Peter along with Gordon and Jean was bittersweet. They all welcomed us into their homes and hearts without reservation. Still, we will stay in contact.

Before leaving, MaLese and I spent a very sunny day researching in Lowestoft. This was somewhat unexpected. The Ipswich Office showed that all of the parish records for the places MaLese and my ancestors lived were in Lowestoft. As I went through a vestry minute book looking for IAP information I felt a strong desire to see this information for my people. But the possibility of the trip became a certainty when I found Thomas Castleton of Lowestoft in the Quarter Session Records of 1809 while doing IAP research. This “accident” sent me running to the archivists to see if they would have anything more. When she confirmed that the information I was looking for would be in Lowestoft my ticket was as good as bought.

I also did a frantic search through all the series of Quarter Sessions indexes and found John Castleton in 1750. He had something to do with a case involving a sewer. John and the two Thomas’ are the Castletons that I have run into a dead end with. Because Thomas was appearing before the court on a mater of bastardy Lowestoft parish records probably contain a bastardy bond for his child that might list other family members.

Again, I boarded the train to Lowestoft with high hopes. The day was beautiful. Lowestoft looked a lot better. It is still not my favorite town, but it had a record office which is all I cared about on this trip. Unfortunately, Lowestoft does not hold any of the records for Lowestoft. Norfolk Record Office in Norwich does. It does have some good indexes. I also discovered Lowestoft had an 1821 and 1831 census, where the Castletons show up, so the trip was not a waste of time. I am glad I got to go again before we left Ipswich.

When we arrived in Bury we dropped our suitcases at the B&B and walked into town with Gordon and Jean. They ended up spending most of the day with us. We visited their market in the town center. Then we found the tourist information shop and collected the information we needed to find the Record Office on Monday. We strolled through the gardens and ruins for the old abbey where St. Edmund is said to have been buried (hence the town’s name of Bury St. Edmunds). The garden is beautiful and the ruins were great. Gordon and Jean took us to lunch then walked us home.

MaLese and I then had to figure out a way to get back to Ipswich or Cambridge for conference on Sunday, because none of the trains or buses would get us there on time. We called Gloria and she gave us some numbers of members here. The first couple we called gave us a ride there and invited us to dinner. They live in a house surrounded by a mote. Their oldest daughter is going to BYU Idaho this fall.

I have to run or I will be late. They are picking us up in a few minutes.

Love you lots,

Heather 

Lowestoft

Hi Mom,

I am sorry I haven’t written or called since I went to Lowestoft on my own. I tried to call you yesterday (it would have been in the middle of the night, but I thought you would be up blogging). Unfortunately, the phone rang but no one answered and no answering machine turned on (I tried twice). Double check to make sure if you turn off the power to your computer through the surge protector that it doesn’t turn off the phone as well.

Lowestoft was an interesting experience. I boarded the train around 11:00 AM on a wet Monday morning. the atmosphere was… well, wet and slightly slimy in the train, but I was excited to be going to the birthplace of my Castleton ancestors (as well as the Browne, Smith, Barrett, Harwood and other various surnames). I made a video on my camera on the train ride there (I was bursting with excitement)! Lowestoft, as you know, borders the German Sea and is a large port town with a beach. In my mental to-do list I wanted to dip my feet in the German Sea, tour the parish church of St. Margaret and find a tombstone of one of my ancestors that had been overlooked and would give me a clue as to where to look when the family disappears.

Within 3 minutes of leaving the train station the wind broke my umbrella. Undeterred, I headed into town to find the tourist information shop. MaLese and I have used these shops in Dorchester, Lyme and Ipswich. They are great for finding maps, bus schedules and getting historical information on the town. Lowestoft’s shop was no different – except it did not contain a tourist map. I finally found an employee who pulled out a photocopied street map and highlighted where she “thought” the church was. Because the street she highlighted was St. Margaret’s Street I felt confident that it was safe to proceed. After a 20 minute uphill walk in the rain and mud (I have always wanted to make that claim and have it be true!) I reached the church. I even made a video of the church and the cemetery (the video included caveats on my broken umbrella and the buttresses on the side of the church).

This is the point where my trip became very funny in a sad way. First off, the church was locked, so I couldn’t go in. The information centre for the cemetery was closed as well. Now, by this point in my internship I feel pretty comfortable with the typical English church cemetery. The cemeteries are cute little grounds surrounding the church: the cemeteries might have a tree or two in the grounds, as well as a few overturned headstones, but you can go through all the tombs in 2 hours with time to spare. St. Margaret’s’ cemetery grounds could easily fill the Wilkinson Student Center on campus and would probably overflow to the surrounding courtyards (keep in mind though that the church is in the middle of this, but I am not counting the church itself in this space analysis).

The parishioners of Lowestoft certainly believed in recycling the ground because the cemetery is overflowing with tombstones. Someone has tried to use this excess of rock in the landscaping by creating a series of mini, square cemeteries that are fenced in with tombstones. In many places these tombstone walls are two headstones deep with the writing showing on both sides of the walls. In each of these squares are more tombstones. Also there are a lot of trees and bushes. Inside each tree/bush/trap for transcribers are 7-10 headstones. To read these tombstones a person needs to crawl to get into the bush, scrape the vines off the stone and have enough light to read the writing.

So, there I was. Two hours after I had started the rain was getting worse. I was drenched everywhere below the neck. My shoes were squishing and my umbrella was even more broken due to me trying to climb into bushes and not end up having to shave my head in an effort to remove myself from these bushes’ evil clutches. After all my efforts I had only gone through about 1/10 of the cemetery. In addition, I was cold, wet and very upset (not really, but it sounds good). I came to the realization that I was in a deserted cemetery on my own, and I was completely safe… because no one else would be crazy enough to be in the cemetery climbing through evil bushes in the pouring rain.

After calculating how much time it would take to go through the cemetery, contrasting it with the likelihood that somewhere there was an index (probably in the locked church or visitors centre) I decided to call it quits. And yes, I did a short video in honor of the occasion. After the 20 minute walk to the train station and the 1 hr 30 minute train ride home all I wanted was a bath.

As sad as this account is, I am so glad I went. I did not dip my feet in the German Sea, but I had about half of the sea dropped on my head and blown into my clothes. I did not get to walk through the church, but I found the church after walking though a foreign town. Finally, I did not find a missing tombstone, but I did find plenty of bushes to keep my hope of a missing tombstone alive. Oh well, I guess I will just have to go back one day and look again. Any volunteers for a traveling buddy???

Love you lots,

Heather

Hold on tight and don’t let go!

By Janet Walgren
When young parents put a child in a swing for the first time, they place their hands on the hands of their child and wrap their little fingers around the chain and then they say, “Hold on tight and don’t let go!” At first they push the child gently but with passing time they are doing underdogs and enjoying the thrill of a child’s joyful laughs as the child gets the ride of their little life.

The instructions, “hold on tight and don’t let go,” are repeated many times as a child grows to adulthood, and with growing urgency as the dangers become more pronounced until one day the Lord gently pries the parents’ hands from the child’s and says, “it is enough!”

Yesterday was one of those days for me. When Heather was around five or six, she went sleigh riding with her older sister, Helen. When they got to the hill a couple blocks from home, Helen insisted on taking all of her turns first. Heather waited patiently then Helen announced that she was finished and was going home. Heather hadn’t had her turn yet. I didn’t know it at the time, but this scenario was not too uncommon for these two sisters.

[My former husband had disappeared with my two oldest sons several years earlier, and I never got them back, so, I was a little paranoid with my daughters and the buddy system was strictly enforced.]

Well, this time Heather decided not to give in to her older sister; she was going to have her turn. Helen took off for home and Heather climbed the hill, turned around, put the sled down and looked down the street at Helen just in time to see a van drive up and stop by Helen. Then to her horror, she saw two men get out of the van and grab her sister. By some miracle, Helen escaped and was able to run to the safety of our home unharmed. This experience made an indelible impression on Heather and she has never ventured out without a buddy again… Until today!

Yesterday, Heather told me that today is a bank holiday and MaLese wanted to stay and prepare her research for the archives tomorrow. Heather wanted to go to Lowestoff to see where her Castleton ancestors had lived. She said that she inquired about the safety of the trip, and she prayed about it and had decided to go solo today.

There was a part of me that wanted to say, hold on and don’t let go. But there was another part of me that remembered a blessing that Heather received that told her to get to know her family, both the living and the dead. And I had to let go.

It is now 7:30 PM my time which means that Heather should be safely tucked in bed. I don’t know; there was no email. But I have a calm reassurance as I recall the scripture, “Trust in the Lord with all thy heart. Lean not unto thine own understanding. In all thy ways acknowledge Him and He shall direct thy paths, Proverbs 3: 5-6.

The one thing that got me through loosing my sons was the fact that I knew that God knew where they were, and I knew that God always holds on to His children and He never lets go.

I know God lives. It is not a matter of faith for me now. But having faith in what God does with his children is a much harder matter.  Heather, I hope that you had a wonderful day.

I Love You,

Mother

Observing Memorial Day

Heather has been without internet for the past couple of days. I just spent a delightful hour on the phone with her. She and MaLese have totally fallen in love with the families that they have been staying with and are enjoying their time in England very much.  

A woman that I work with told me of a lovely Memorial Day family tradition that has been passed down in her family for generations. She wrote this guest post especially for Memorial Day. Heather and I would like to thank Shauna for this contribution.

~Janet Walgren 

By Shauna Moyes
Memorial Day for so many has come to mean a day off from work, water skiing, shopping, opening day of the municipal pool, camping; anything other than remembering the real purpose of Memorial Day¾remembering those that have passed away.

When I was a child, many years ago now, Memorial Day was very special in our home. It was all due to my Mother. A few days before the holiday arrived, she would purchase large sprays of cut flowers in containers. They’d be stored in our basement where it was cool until the actual holiday, when we’d put them into the car, and make our way some 70 miles to the cemeteries where my grandparents were buried

We’d also take bottles of water and vinegar, scrub brushes, shears, spades, and hand brooms. The most important thing we took was a picnic lunch. On the way to the cemetery, we’d stop and get my Aunt and her children, and then all of us would make our way to the city cemetery.

Once there, and after locating my grand parent’s burial site, we’d all get out of the car, and the cleaning would begin. We’d scrub the headstone, trim the long grass around it, spade out the flower bed, and generally tidy things up. We’d wash the headstone first with vinegar to make it shine and remove some of the hard water deposits, then rinse it with water. We’d plant new flowers in the beds, and then we’d place the cut flowers as well.

All the time this was happening, my mom and my aunt would tell us stories about their parents, and what it was like when they were growing up. I heard things about my grandparents that even to this day, I can still recall. We were also taught what I call “graveside” etiquette. Things like not walking on flat headstones, and not walking over graves. It was a matter of simple respect for those who were laying at rest. When it was lunchtime, we’d get the picnic out and have lunch in whatever cemetery we happened to be in. (Do you know what a nice place a cemetery is to have a picnic lunch? You should try it some time. Dead people make great lunch companions.)

Then we’d go to the next cemetery and the process would begin all over again. The entire day was spent remembering and honoring our family members who had passed on. We’d visit my mother’s family burial sites and my father’s family as well. We’d even visit some of their friends who had passed on. Always there were flowers to be placed, and if maintenance needed to be done, that was taken care of. Always, always, always, there were fond stories about the person we were visiting. There was never a Memorial Day that passed without visiting the cemeteries and resting places of our family.

My mother passed away in 2001. Still to this day, my brother and his 9 children, my husband and me, and my father and his wife all spend Memorial Day still visiting all of our relatives and ancestors who have passed on. Many of the stories I heard as a child are now being related to the next generation. They’re adding stories of their own now, especially when we visit Mom’s grave. The older children relate the stories of their own, about their ancestors the way they heard them from their grandmother and they’re adding their own stories about her. The tradition continues. We still have a picnic lunch at whatever cemetery we’re at when the time comes.

 I treasure my memories of Memorial Day and spending time with my family, both living and dead. I grew up with a strong sense of who I was, and who my family was. I grew up with a very strong sense of honoring those that have come before me and the sacrifices they made. It’s a tradition that will always be strong in my family.

So, maybe it’s time you start a new tradition in your family. Locate the cemetery where your family is resting, and spend some time visiting with them. Take them some flowers and tell stories you remember about them. Take your kids and get them in touch with who they are, and have lunch with dead people. They’re great companions and they never try to monopolize the conversation!

May 24, 2007

Hey Mom,
I discovered that most of the records I wanted to look at for the Bowdidge family might not exist any more. We spent the whole day in the Record Office and are getting ready to hop on the train tomorrow. I was sad to discover that Malese and I could have gone to the Channel Islands for L28. Still, we have had so much fun. I wish we could stay a little longer, but both of us are looking forward to Suffolk.

We got online to find out when we would arrive in Ipswich. The cost of one regular ticket is now the price of both of our 1st class tickets. The cost of one 1st class ticket is more than I about the cost of all of all my other tickets combined. Anyway, I need to get off and get ready. I don’t know if I will have Internet when I get there, but we will see.

I love you lots,

Heather

May 23, 2007

Hey Mom,
I hope you had a great day. I certainly did. I started out the day visiting the local market in Dorchester. It is amazing how many of the communities come together for market days. I had a lot of fun walking through the booths and looking at the goods. I even found some of the presents I am bringing back.

 

After visiting the market, MaLese and I rode the bus to Lyme Regis. When we got off the bus I was giddy with happiness to be on the same streets that my ancestors walked; plus I was nearly touching the English Channel. The town is built into the side of a hill. It is beautiful. You would almost expect to find it somewhere on the Italian Riviera. There is a castle like structure right next to the waterfront and the harbor has a man made barrier which protects it from storms in the Channel (the barrier is called “the Cobb”).

 

We made our way to the tourist information shop to find out where the parish church was and were surprised at the number of Jane Austin books for sale. Jane visited Lyme a few times during her life. In fact, she used Lyme as one of the pivotal locations in her novel, Persuasion. I am not sure if you remember, but Persuasion is the Jane Austin book I brought with me to read on the flight here. I didn’t read it on the plane, but I did read it in Kew. I knew the characters in the book traveled to a seaside town called Lyme, but I didn’t realize that it referred to Lyme Regis. The Cobb plays a key role in Jane’s book, so I enjoyed walking on it, taking pictures and making a mini movie.

 

MaLese and I found the church easily. First, we went through the cemetery to see if we could find any relevant graves. It was sad to see the weather damage that wore down all of the tombstones that were unprotected from the channel. Others were face down on the ground. We had an interesting time trying to lift these tombstones to read the inscriptions. Then we went in to the church. It was a wonderful experience, but unfortunately I did not find any of my people’s records.

 

In between walking on the Cobb and visiting the church I had a few more experiences in Lyme Regis. I had a seagull try repeatedly to land on my head, I waded in the English Channel, I strolled down a hidden garden path, I found a doorway that came up to my shoulder, I traveled down a country lane and finally, my nose got sunburned.

 

When we got home we discovered the largest man made earthworks was a five minute drive away from us. Our host’s husband drove us to Maiden Castle and picked us up when we were done. The “castle” is actually a green hill with many nooks and crannies that use to have an Iron Age village on top of it. It also hosted a Roman temple in the 3rd century. As we hiked along the ridge of the castle I felt a sense of peace. I am so glad I was able to get out and see Dorset.

 

Tomorrow, I am spending the day in the record office, hoping that I will be able to find some more information on the Bowdidge family. We will leave for Ipswich the following morning. Though my stay here has been short it has giving me a love for this land and I hope I will have the opportunity to return someday.

 

Love,
Heather 

I love you

Dear Mom,
Thank you for that wonderful email. I love and appreciate you. I don’t think I would have ever made it here without your help. We went to Lyme Regis today and found the church John Bowdidge and Alice Smith were married in. I also discovered it is the “Lyme” Jane Austin uses in Persuasion. I got to walk on the Cobb and I did a few videos, as well. We are getting ready to go to the biggest earth work in Europe, which is just down the road, so I will write a more detailed account of my day when we return (my nose is sunburned, but I had so much fun!!!!!!).

Love you very much.
Heather

On the homeless

Dear Mommy,
Our B&B is beautiful and our host is one of the sweetest ladies I have met. We will leave on Friday morning, which means we only have 3 days. Today we spent the full day in the CRO. Tomorrow we are going to take the bus to Lyme Regis and Wootton Fitzpaine. I want to see the Parish Churches and see if I can find any cemeteries. Thursday, we will return to the CRO.  

Tonight, I was flipping through TV channels and found a show where they took 5 Brits from privileged backgrounds who agreed to go live on the streets for something like a week. Two of the Brits were self-made millionaires, who believed homeless people were homeless because they were lazy. Another one was the daughter of a well respected national TV anchor man. She had 8 horses and spent what amounts to $600 on an outfit without blinking an eye. The other two were boys (18 and 21) who are heirs to multimillion pound fortunes. They collected these 5 and had them hand over their money, wallets, phones, watches… and then had them change into old clothes to fit in on the streets. Then, they dropped them off in various parts of London.  

One of the self-made millionaires decided he would end the week with at least 100 pounds, so he set off to make some money selling flowers. The first night he sold all the flowers, but the man he got the flowers from disagreed on the fee, so he was cheated out of some of his money. The second day he went to a flower dealer and got about 50 flower bundles. He needed to recover L35 to pay for the flowers, but he kept on being chased off by shop keepers and the police because he did not have a license. 

The other self-made millionaire walked until 5 in the morning to avoid sleeping in a doorway. He broke down and cried on the second day and called his mum. Then he found a homeless man and discovered the soup kitchen network of London. One of the younger heirs tried to beg, and was amazed when people ignored him or were rude to him. He started out by saying he wasn’t spoiled and that everyone was equal, but when people treated him like a homeless person he said, “They look at me like they are so much better than me, but they have no idea about who I really am!”  

The daughter of the newsman walked until she reached Mayfair (a posh neighborhood in London) but then she was scared to go to sleep. She ended up traveling across town to the home of a family friend who let her take a shower and gave her money. The show directors asked her to give the money away to someone else, because a homeless person wouldn’t have those resources, but she refused. Consequently, they took her sleeping bag away. She stayed in a youth hostel for the 3rd night. 

The last contestant is the heir to a huge amount of agricultural land. His father is willing and wanting to give it to him, but the son had never really worked anywhere else and felt like he had no conception of what other people’s lives are like. So he signed onto the show. He ran into friends from home almost as soon as he was dropped off. His friends wanted him to spend the night at one of their homes, but he refused. Then they tried to give him L20. Again, he refused. He did take something like 2 quid from them. After they left he spoke about the experience and said that he did not feel right about taking more than the 2 quid from them because a homeless person would not run into a friend like that.  

Out of all of them I think the heir to the agricultural land and the guy who tried to sell flowers will get the most out of the experience. The agricultural heir is the most open to the experience. The one who tried to sell the flowers will learn that people are not homeless because they are lazy. Rather, once a person becomes homeless it is almost impossible for them to drag themselves out of that hole and rejoin the mainstream of society. It was a fascinating show. I wish I could watch the other episode of the series, when they pull these people off the streets after 3 days to speak on their experience only to put them back out on the streets with a homeless partner, who knows the ins and out of poverty in London. 

The show made me appreciate what I have even more than usual. This is beautiful country here. I am so happy I have this chance to visit it. It is now 11:11 so I am going to go to bed.I love you,Heather 

Dear Heather,
I am glad to hear that they have a show like that and it doesn’t surprise me that you took an interest in it. You have a very sensitive and empathetic soul. It is a very different thing to walk in the shoes of a paradigm than to only observe that paradigm. I know a lot of people who have traveled to third world countries and observed poverty, but they never lived the experience – not even in their minds.

 

Most people have no concept even of the basics in a first world country. Consider the questions on job applications – Address? (Don’t have one), Phone? (Don’t have one), Reliable transportation? (Yeah I finally got one covered, I walk). What about appearance and hygiene at the job interview?

 

There are a lot of reasons for a person to become homeless. Unfortunately there are not very many real solutions. It is interesting to see how those who have no understanding are the ones that think they have the solutions. No wonder so many man made solutions fail.

Stay Sweet Honey. I love you.

Mom

May 22, 2007

Hi Mom,
I just got back from my first day at the Dorset History Centre. I found out that the guy under the ink blot is not John, but his brother George. I couldn’t prove before that George was a brother… I thought he was born somewhere else. I also found John and Alice’s marriage record, so I now know that John wasn’t married previously and all the kids belong to Alice. After months and months of research, I have answers at last.

It is beautiful here. It is after 6:00 PM but the sun is shining like it is two in the afternoon. The birds are chirping and the wind is blowing gently. I am going to go enjoy the rest of the day.

I love you,
Heather