Who Do I Think I Am?

It's the BBC's fault. And it was a double whammy. First, there's a new series of Who Do You Think You Are? on the box. I don't think I've missed an episode of the ten series so far, well, apart from the one's that haven't aired yet. And secondly, I have practically ever issue of the accompanying magazine (bar one; damned silly February shipping times!) which, as well as handy tips on doing your family tree and articles on the celebrities in the show, is a cracking read on history in general. And it was the magazine that planted the seed that has just come to fruition.

I've been doing my tree now, on and off, for about five years. I've not really looked at it for a while, but a brief mention of a database of canal workers who lived around Ormskirk in the WDYTYA? mag lodged in my head, and two nights ago thought I would take a look. One or two members of my maternal grandmother's family worked and lived on the canals, so thought I would take a look. What harm could it do? I might find something out I didn't know.

The proverbial floodgates opened (or should it be lockgates? It is about canals, after all?). I have discovered people I never knew existed, and have pushed the Lyon line back another two or three generations, right back to the mid-1700s. And it's been fun. And there's the problem.

It's addictive, this family history malarky. I can now forsee spending lots of time going over my research again, filling gaps, checking and rechecking what I already have, rethinking the method of data storage. It's dangerous. And it can be expensive. Subscriptions to websites, sending off for certificates, pay-per-view documents: it can drain your finances considerably.

But this time, I'm determined. I'm not going to resubscribe to the websites. At best (or worst, depending on how you see it), I'm going to go over my old research, rewrite and condense my paperwork, do a bit of pruning on the tree, getting rid of families that I'm not even related to, but who married the daughter of a son who I am. I got a bit carried away with my original research, and probably thousands of people I can cull!

Geneaology is a fascinating pursuit, and, although most people probably aren't interested in sitting down and drawing up a family tree or doing the research, the majority of people are intrigued or excited my family stories. Every family has them. Some of mine are colourful. Like my great-great grandfather on my dad's mum's side who ran off and joined the circus. Or the distant uncle who committed suicide with a cut-throat razor. Or the great-grandfather who damaged his brain in a motorcycle accident and later tried to burn a house down. Or the part of the family that went over to Argentina to help build their railways. And I could go on.

Every family is full of great stories. The fascination with finding someone famous, or aristocratic, or royal, holds no truck with me. And the annoyance of some people claiming descent from named ancestors without the simple shred of evidence except a shared surname causes me to roll my eyes constantly. The everyday lives of agricultural labourers, the dock workers, the mill-hands, the canal folk: it is these people that I am most attuned to, and excited to find out more about. And it is these people we should be proud of being descended from.

(That said, I am distantly related to Ulysses S Grant, general and President, and a bit of a hero of mine...)

Baabarian Hordes

You come across many hazards when you're walking. A wobbly stile here. Brambles, nettles and all manner of spiky plants there. An unseen pothole when you're wandering across a field of wheat. Unpaved country roads that should be safe to walk, except satnav drivers are sent down it and drive like they're on the motorway. And not to mention disappearing footpaths ("It's right here on the map, so where the hell is it?!!").

But one of the main things you come across when you're on your travels will be animals. They come in all shapes and sizes, but they all pose problems in their own ways. And none of them are wild: they are supposedly domesticated.

The first hazardous animal that comes to most minds is the cow. This animal has hurt most walkers than any other, and rightfully deserves to be respected. Not the brightest animal on the planet, but it is a heavy bit of kit. A solid chunk of muscle, the best part of a ton. With udders. And horns. Most of the time, they are simply a little skittish of your being in the field with them. If they're lying down, they will stand up. They're not being polite, and welcoming you into their field. They simply want to stare you out. And make sure you leave. And if you get too close, they will do a silly little jump and run as fast as their bulk will let them. Which is surprisingly swift most of the time. Sometimes they may think you're the farmer, though, and may have food, so you may get followed from time to time.

The time they get a bit of a mood is when they are in calf. With lots of little ones running around, they understandbly get a bit more alert, and watch your every move. There was a time when I was walking on Hadrian's Wall with my friend Joe, and we had to move through a paddock with some very young calves with their mothers. There wasn't much room for manoeuvre, and it was quite hairy being so close to a mardy mother with a calf under her legs. But, to date (and touch wood), I have never had a close encounter with an enraged cow. And I don't fancy it either. Just today, I gave a field full of cows and calves a wide berth so I didn't disturb them; a straight 100-metre path became about 200-metres as I curved around them.

I have also never had a close-call with a bull. I've been past many, but never had to share a field with one. The solitary bull in a field, that will chase a hiker up a tree or over a wall, may be a device used in comedy, but it is a common occurence. Only last week, a farmer in Nottinghamshire was charged with manslaughter when a bull charged a couple walking across the field, killing the man and injuring his wife. The sexually mature bull is naturally aggressive, especially if surrounded by cows who are in season. According to law, only young animals should be kept in fields with footpaths. But even this has its downfalls.

Young bulls and bullocks, whilst technically not as dangerous as their mature counterparts, are just as pushy as their elders. And what makes me a bit more cautious when I'm in a field with them is the fact that they are usually in herds. I have been in a field with thirty-to-forty young bulls who have followed me every step. I don't think it was malice; I think they had a natural curiousity, but at the time, it was bloody scary! Lots of young, big bulls, with sprouting horns, practically nudging me along. It was a bit disconcerting. Especially when they sprint towards you and look like they're about to charge.

One thing you don't see a lot of is goats. Unless you're wandering around Morocco, or up in the Alps somewhere, I doubt you will see many of these creatures. Unless you pop into a petting zoo somewhere, or happen across the rare herd of Kashmiri on Great Orme. It's a shame we don't really have them in farms any more. Their milk is okay, and they make great curry. Their meat, that is. Not the goat.

Horses and ponies next. I usually put them into three mood brackets: aloof, nervous, and overly friendly. A horse in a field is always a pleasant sight, and, certainly if you're walking in fields close to large towns, the most common animal you're likely to see. And wild ponies are always a magical encounter. I've come across them in Snowdonia, Pembrokeshire and even in the hills above Conwy and Penmaenmawr, and they are almost always beautiful creatures, but they are naturally a bit more wary of you than your average horse.

Whilst not under the domesticated bracket, birds are definitely a hazard. Especially if you're on an island or a cliff. In nesting season. Prepare to flown at. Or 'bombed'.

Dogs are sometimes an annoyance, but they can also be quite threatening. On the one hand, I've been jumped on my a muddy spaniel who wanted to make friends more times than I can remember. On the other, I was stalked across farmland on the Wirral by a rottweiler who had gotten out of his garden. Luckily, he got bored and went back. God alone knows what would have happened. He wasn't the most pleasant dog I've ever encountered.

But of late, the scariest creature I have had the displeasure of sharing several fields around the country is not one you immediately think as an animal of foreboding. One that would have you almost running out of the field. Heart beating faster. Shouting to scare them away, in vain. And that creature is the sheep. Yes, you read right. The sheep.

Untoward ungulates. Outraged ovids. It happened three times last year. All the years I've been walking, and it only happened last year. Maybe there was something in the air. But on three seperate occasions (near Ambleside, Cumbria; near Chatburn, Lancashire; and in Gaerwen, Anglesey), I was followed, quite aggressively, by entire herds of sheep. To be fair, it was lambing season, so I was ambling across fields full of lambs and their hyperattentive mothers, and was expecting some reponse. Normally the ewes just have a wee and run away, lambs in tow (I have no idea why they feel the need to do that first). But not in these cases. The elders of the herd, that looked like Nora Batty and Ena Sharples reincardnated into wooly form, took the lead, and were very almost biting my arse across the field. When I upped a gear to get away faster, they did too. Only getting over a stile to escape into the next field or onto a road did the ordeal cease. If they were rams, I would understand, but it was like being hounded by the sheep equivalent of Mumsnet. In all three cases, they were one breed of sheep: the Herdwick. These sheep were brought from Scandinavia by Norse settlers, so maybe they have a bit of beserker Viking spirit to them!

I'm sure I will get into more scrapes with the local livestock in the future...

Eat Me, Drink Me, Make Me, Wear Me

As many of you may know, I've been a heritage volunteer at Croxteth Hall for some years now. This involves dressing up as a Victorian/Edwardian era Butler (waistcoat, tails, bowtie, fob watch: the works) and showing people around the former country seat of the Molyneux family, the Earls of Sefton. Also, during the winter, the Hall becomes a timewarp for local schoolchildren, as they come into a Victorian house with a full complement of outside and inside staff, and they get to see, and do, what would have happened in a stately home. We all play roles, rangers and volunteers alike, and try to stay in character as much as possible so as to not spoil the illusion. It's all good fun.

But it isn't just fun; it's educational. The children go away learning more in one two or three hour session than they would probably do sat in a classroom with so many distractions. That is because they are engaged, and their imaginations, and hopefully inspirations, are fired by their personal interaction and participation in the world of immersive education.

Not that I think that 'living history' should replace history as it is taught in schools. Quite the contrary. But it is a worthwhile addition, as you learn so much more by doing something than just hearing or reading about it. Which is why I'm often surprised by some historians' sniffy attitude when it comes to living history and re-enactment in general.

It remind me of the spat that took place between David Starkey and Lucy Worsley a couple of years ago. Starkey made a jibe about Lucy dressing up in period clothes and generally first hand experiencing how life would have been like, what the food was like, and so on, in the various periods she was looking at whilst making her series, If Walls Could Talk. And she's done it ever since. She's never that far away from a frock, a wig or underwear of some description. Does this make her any less a serious historian? Is this dumbing down history?

Some historian would argue yes, but surely the understanding of the practical and everyday would answer some questions that arise whilst researching in the library and archives? And how and why things that are found in the ground during archaeological digs break or are lost in times past?

Living history, re-enactment, experimental archaeology, call it what you will; these have been filling in the gaps of our knowledge for many years now. It is through research and practical experience that we know how the lorica segmentata works on a Roman legionary, thanks to groups like th Ermine Street Guard. It is from groups who specialise in Iron Age metallurgy that we understand the skill of our ancestors in crafting fine weapons and jewellery. And the list of examples could be endless. How to build a round-house. How Stonehenge was built. Why Norse ships were so good. How a Greek trireme worked.

Out understanding of something comes from doing them, or learning from someone who has done it, and passes down their knowledge. History is the passing down of knowledge and how things were and are done. It is not just about people, dates, battles. It is about the little people. The little things. The things done everyday that are taken for granted, and so not written down by anyone writing in contemporary sources. Not everything we can learn from the past is written in book. Or found in the ground. Sure, we can take them as a starting point, but the real catalyst for understanding is doing. Seeing. Touching. Tasting.

In my main line of historical research, that of military history, it is bad practice not to visit the landscape of the battle to gain an understanding of how and why events took place. It is also common to become acquainted with the weapons, armour, and technology, and that often involves handling them. In some cases, even dressing in the period clothing and armour. All of this gives one a better understanding. I believe all fields of historical research would be best served by some physical education. If not doing yourself, conversing with those that do.

Living history and its many fellows should not be seen as lesser field. These people are often piecing together puzzles and putting them to practical use that may have been the way that things were done. Yes, it is sometimes entertainment, but isn't that the best way to learn? To be educated when you are least expecting it? Children and adults alike are drawn to living history events. Be it a medieval encampment in the fields of Tatton Old Hall. Or the Normans and Saxons fighting year-in, year-out on the slopes of Senlac. Or Victorian soldiers wandering around the gardens of Erddig. They are not there simply for the costumes, or the displays. They are often there to learn, ask questions, and, just maybe, interested in getting involved themselves.

If dressing up in period clothing is history for the lowest common denominator, then so be it. History was mainly made and written by the elite, and the lowest common denominator was often ignored. Living history and re-enactment brings the minutiae of life back to the fore. And long may it do so.

So, I hope that historians of the future will venture out of the library once in a while. It can't harm your credibility to wear a silly hat once in a while. Or actually shoot a longbow for the first time even though you've written books on medieval archery. It seems okay for television historians to use re-enactors as background noise and pretty illustrations on their programmes, but then completley diminish the importance of such groups in historical understanding. The same has been done with art in history books for many years, and not using them as a source in themselves. But that's a topic for another time...

The Men (And Boys) Who Would Be King (Part Three)

And so, we move to the final part of the list...

13) William, Duke of Gloucester (1689-1710)

The only surviving child of Anne and her husband, Prince George of Norway and Denmark, William was seen as the future for the new Stuart dynasty, cementing in place the Protestant line as opposed to that of his grandfather, James II's Catholic line. His aunt, Mary II, died when he was young, but he got on well with his Dutch uncle, William III, who reigned alone after her death(and I mean alone; the English people generally distrusted this 'foriegn' ruler, despite the fact they invited him in to get rid of James II). William was made a Kinght of the Garter when only a toddler, and he developed his own miniature army of young boys. However, following a trend in heirs to the throne when the future depends on them, William was a sickly child, and his health often failed him. He died aged 11, leaving only his mother as the sole heir. The Act of Settlement was drawn up the following year, that supported the claim of the distant relatives, the kings of Hanover, to become the rulers of the newly United Kingdom of Great Britain following the rule and death of Queen Anne.

14) Frederick Lewis, Prince of Wales (1707-1751)

Son of George II and Caroline of Ansbach, like the rest of his family, he was born and raised a German in the kingdom of Hanover. He never got on well with his parents, who seemed to despise him for no reason. He was not allowed to leave Hanover upon his father succession to the throne of England, and was therefore unable to take up his position as Prince of Wales until the year after the coronation. He was interested in politics, and was especially drawn to the more Whiggish elements of the opposition. He was also a lover of the arts, loving artists and painting, and even dabbled in writing plays, although the latter was deemed a huge failure. He even had connections to the musical world, and was an accomplished musician himself. However, his greatest musical patronage would be Thomas Arne's 'Rule Britannia'. He even dabbled in sport, and was very closely involved in promoting and playing cricket. He seemed, for all intents and purposes, the perfect English prince. The public and parliament loved him, but his parents loathed him. He brought some scandal to the family (he had a few affairs) and also came cap in hand when he almost became bankrupt due to rich living and gambling debts. They seemed glad when he died young at the age of 44, but the country mourned. He did, however, leave an heir, who became the next Prince of Wales, and would later become George III, which brought a new set of problems.

15) Frederick, Duke of York and Albany (1763-1827)

The 'Grand Old Duke of York' of nursery rhyme, Frederick was the second son of George III, and brother to George IV. As his elder brother had only the daughter (who married Prince Leopold (later King of the Belgians)), who died in childbirth, Frederick was the heir assumptive from 1817.

Frederick was a military man (hence the popular rhyme), and climbed the ranks quickly (something which his rank as a royal prince made easy). He was on active servive during the wars that followed the French Revolution, but he was deemed an ineffectual general. One thing he did pick up from his experience was the lack of organisation in the army, and following the Napoleonic Wars, he became a great reformer of the armed forces, a task made all the easier when when he was promoted to Commander-in-Chief. He helped found Sandhurst to better educate and develop officers, but his downfall came when his mistress was caught selling commissions. Whilst he married, he and his wife, Fredeica Charlotte of Prussia, were never close, and lived seperate lives. They had no children. He died in 1827 of dropsy, and his death began something of a succession crisis. None of his younger brothers were married or had children, so there became something of a race to produce an heir. His younger brother William became heir (and later William IV), but he too had no children, so it was down to the daughter of the fourth son, Edward, Duke of Kent, to become the hope of the Hanover line: she was Alexandrina Victoria.

16) Albert Victor, Duke of Clarence (1864-1892)

The eldest son of the Prince of Wales (the future Edward VII), Albert was the grandson of the reigning Queen Victoria, and she could see clearly that her line was safe for the future. However, if she thought her son and heir was a problem, Albert was even more of an embarrassment. Arrogant, idle, and dim-witted, he was a liability. Even more so when the Cleveland Street scandal broke, where his name was mentioned in connection with a male brothel. There are some that also suspect him of being involved in the Jack the Ripper case, if not the killer himself. Whatever his family thought of him, his friends and the country at large adored him. He was dashing, handsome, and a bit of a rogue, and people seemed to love that. The family arranged an important match for him, but he caught influenza during the epidemic of 1889-92, and died shortly before his scheduled wedding. His bride-to-be, Princess Mary of Teck, shortly married his youngest brother, Prince George, later to be George V.

And this ends our look at the heirs that never quite made it. Of course, their stories can be fleshed out a considerable amount, but all have great tales to tell (some more than others: some warrant (and indeed have) books written about them on their own. But I hope that you all enjoyed this run-down, and the repercussions that most of them had on the future. The possibility that some of them may have somehow survived throws up a plethora of interesting 'what-ifs'!