I don’t want to repeat myself, but The Man is working on a
Saturday again. Not only that, he’s working again tomorrow too. The dosh helps I can’t deny that, but I really
would rather have his company.
The alarm beeped at is usual time, so at least it was not as
early as last weekend. So see him off to work and then a quick tidy up and get
my gear together and I take off for the local station to make my way to
Writtle, via Liverpool Street Station and Chelmsford. Well, that is what I thought I was going to
do. It did sound easy, but after standing on the platform at Whitechapel for almost
half an hour I finally figured out that the train was not actually running.
Bother. Retrace my route a few stations and catch the district line to Liverpool
Street, and I’m more than half an hour behind. Can’t do much
more than text the person I am expecting to meet that I am running
late. Get to Chelmsford and find the right bus stop and the heavens opened. Good
thing I had brought the brolly. Took a while for the bus to arrive and then
another 15 minutes or so before I got to the stop I wanted. How late was I? Almost
an hour and a half. Thank goodness for text messaging. My contact at the
Writtle Archive was waiting for me at the bus stop and soon we were elbow deep
in records. Still have to decipher the information that I accumulated there. Watch
this space.
The bells on the church were pealing, what a lovely sound.
They were ringing out to celebrate the fact that the Olympic torch had passed
though the township earlier this morning. So maybe it was good thing that I was
late.
After collecting a photocopy or two of possible relevant
information we went out into the churchyard and she led me to the headstone of
a possible family member. Camera clicks and the images will be stored for
later. Then a tour of the church. The inside has changed quite a lot since my ancestor’s
time, but the font where they would have been baptised is still the original,
though it did look a little worse the wear, possible from having been kept
outside for a number of years.
Back into Chelmsford and I get off the bus at the local
library to see if they have copies of the local paper from June 1854. No lack
there, but the librarian told me that the local records office doesn’t close
for another hour and a half. Off I go again, map in had from the nice library
lady. At the archive, find the right
microfilm, thread it into the viewer and… Nothing. I was hoping to find
something in the newspaper relating to my three times great granny who was
buried by coroners warrant. The film was
very hard to read, and it is possible that I missed it but I’m not hopeful.
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