Following on from my previous post...

Here is my great granny Jemima Clark (nee Cleary) getting kissed by the Mayor of Ramsgate. Couldn't embed it sadly...

http://www.britishpathe.com/record.php?id=24285

Jemima must have been about 77 then or possibly a bit older, I suspect she may have been a trifle dishonest about how old she was, as I've had rather a lot of difficulty tracking her down. Mind you that is also because she doesn't appear anywhere as Jemima till she's 18, and before that I suspect she was going under the name of Mary Ann Cleary, a name she unfortunately shared with a cousin, so it's easy to get them muddled.

What I do know about Jemima is that her father Thomas Cleary drowned when she was very young - according to the stories left behind by her youngest son (my G uncle Bert), Thomas had an unfortunate habit of taking his coat off over his head without undoing the buttons. He made the mistake of doing this on Barking Docks on a windy night and fell in the Thames and was drowned. Mind you, Bert also claimed that Jemima's hair went white at 16 when she saw someone fall down out of a window and die in front of her. As shock of said experience also turned her deaf, I think Bert may have been embellishing a bit. He was a bit of a one for tall stories...

My mother describes Jemima with a degree of dislike, as she lived with them after her husband (the wonderfully named Ophir, who was a mill worker), and was a bit of a drama queen to say the least. (Her younger sisters on the other hand, describe with glee the way that Jemima taught them rude words when they were very young). My own grandmother, reacted to Jemima's histrionics by always keeping a very tight lid on her own emotions, something she passed down to my own mother. Mostly, I think it's a good thing, but occasionally, I suspect Jemima's is a better way. Though, I am also inclined to agree with my grandma that forcing Ophir to convert from the Baptist faith to the Catholic one on his death bed was not her finest hour.

She lived apparently as a very merry widow, and numbered several male friends in Ramsgate, as well as the mayor. Though history, alas, does not record whether she kissed any of them...

I can understand why my mother found Jemima's histrionics difficult to stomach, as my grandmother had to manage alone during the war, with six children and a sick husband (who died in 1944, the same year as Jemima), and probably needed a demanding mother like a whole in the head, but since I've been researching her, I've some sympathy with her too.

She not only lost her parents young (haven't tracked down what happened to her mother yet), and lived with extended family for most of her childhood, as far as I can tell from the censuses, but she lost not one but two sons in the First World War. Ernest, her middle son, died of illness in 1916,aged 20, and Alfred the oldest died in the last week of the war, in the battle of the Sambre, the same battle that Wilfred Owen died of. Factor in the loss of twins, Wilfred and Winnie, who died at 6 weeks and were so small they had to buried in drawers (a story that held fascination for me as child, and now seems unbearably poignant), and I think she probably had every right to the odd moment of histrionics. Of her seven children, only three survived to adulthood. I can't begin to imagine that must do to you.

I currently have a strand of my current wip which focuses partly on WW1, and Lily, the heroine shares some of Jemima's experiences. She's not at all like Jemima, but I've been inspired by what happened to Jemima to come up with Lily's story. Best be warned though, you need to get out your hankies...

I'm rather glad that Jemima was able to live the life of Reilly in the 30s, seems to me like she deserved it, histrionics, and all...

Happy Families

About a year I blogged here about my cousin Angela Marshall who had sadly just died. I may have mentioned that she was a pretty amazing person. She was certainly incredibly generous and one of my favourite relatives growing up. This was quite an achievement, as I have A LOT of relatives...

The measure of just how special Angela was, is that I am not the only one in the family to feel this way. I am not even the only member of my immediate family (there are eight of us), to feel this way... There are 35 of us in my generation (yes, that's right I have 28 cousins on my mother's side, and according to latest records about 57 second cousins)and Angela meant something to us all. She had no children of her all, but she was like our own special fairy godmother as children, and she didn't leave us without showing her extraordinary generosity once again. In her will, as well as leaving something to her first cousins (my mother and her siblings), and her nieces and nephews, she also left something to each and everyone of us cousins. All that she asked was that we had a party in her honour.

So on Saturday we did. And what a party. As I mentioned in my previous blog about her, Angela worked for Elstree Studios for many years providing sound effects for films as varied as Star Wars, The Omen, and Mel Gibson's Hamlet (I can still remember the gasp round the table from a dozen women at a family wedding when she casually announced that she'd met Mel - this in the days before he turned into a religious fanatic). On the same occasion she also regaled us with tales of the "Shout" (an exercise when she got a group of people together to make a particular set of sound effects) she organised which involved lots of deep breathing and panting noises for a scene in the second Hell Raiser film (if you've seen it, it's a scene involving writhing bodies under sheets returning from hell). Some time afterwards she and a friend were in a bookshop in LA when they spotted Clive Barker, and proceeded to stand behind him making similar noises...

So thanks to the Elstree connection, we were able to have the party in the function room at Elstree studios, complete with cardboard cutouts of Angela in her youth standing next to such luminaries as Patrick McGee (her first job was working on The Prisoner) as well as the inevitable Storm Trooper. Angela, was, we were reminded by one of her colleagues extremely dismissive of SF when they worked on the original Star Wars... (It didn't stop her taking us to see the film at Leicester Square though, which has left me with a lifelong love of SF, so I have to be grateful to her for that too).

There were several speeches from both family and friends, but one of my cousins had managed to put together a video of Angela's life with a Star Wars theme which was both memorable and moving. The same cousin had also found some Pathe reel footage of my Great Grandmother Jemima Clark (nee Clary) being kissed by the Mayor of Ramsgate at some shindig on Ramsgate beach. The story goes that my aunt was at the cinema one day, when the Pathe news came on, and one of her friends, said, Sheila, isn't that your grandma? And it was. As I've spent the last few months researching Jemima (among others)for the family tree, and her story has informed quite a lot of what is happening in the latest wip (about which more in a later blog) it was really brilliant to see her in the flesh as it were. Particularly as it brought forth a rash of stories from my mother and aunts about what a raver she was. Who'd have thunk...

The children were only slightly overwhelmed by the vastness of their family (last family party took place when they were all very young and time & geography means they've not met many members of the extended family before), Spouse has got used to it over the years, but elected to stay put with his fellow Outlaws for company,which is probably a wise move. As even one of my cousins said, It's quite overwhelming for US, let alone any other poor sap we bring into the family...

However overwhelming or not, it was fantastic to see so many of the family (only 3 in my generation didn't make it and they're all abroad), there was (inevitably) not enough time to get to meet everyone, but a really fun time was had by all.

Angela wanted us to party, and we did.

Shame she couldn't have been there too...

Have you missed me?

I have just looked at the blog and realised to my shame that it has been over three months since I last wrote here. Damn. That sounds like I am going to confession - Bless me readers for I have sinned and it is far too long since I've made an entry here.

I'd LIKE to say it's because I have been having a wonderfully riveting time, or that I have been deep at work in my new book, but neither would be strictly true.

I did have a pretty good summer - after last year's debacle I had got myself a little (ahem) hyped up before flying out to Turkey, but thankfully not only did I withstand the flight without turning into a gibbering mess, I also had the most relaxing holiday I've had in years. And I mean literally YEARS. So I think we can safely say that my anxiety levels are way lower then they were this time last year, and I am feeling normal again. Yippee doda.

I had meant to blog all this on my return, but somehow got into such a laidback state of mind, never quite managed it. Suffice to say we hadn't been to Turkey for years, and really enjoyed going back. We stayed in the middle of nowhere (after some slightly misleading info from the travel company about how close we were to the local town), which was great for peace & quiet but slightly inconvenient when trying to cater for a family of 6 (the only "shop" was a little hut by the beach where a woman sold beer, milk and bread - all the necessities then - and there was one cafe, which was nice, but the menu got a bit limited). We therefore had to rely on the dodgy bus provided by the site to take us supermarket shopping, which ran mainly on Turkish time, which is very different from the UK variety.

That aside, we did manage a couple of trips to Bodrum by boat (a trip that also ran on Turkish time - the boat journey being 2hrs longer then advertised), which was impressive but way more touristy then last time we were there and Ephesus which was was fantastic. If you ever get to Turkey, go to Ephesus - it's the best place I've been to for really imagining the past - even if the info from the guides was dodgy to say the least. And miraculously, the kids even enjoyed it, especially wandering round the enormous ampitheatre at the end.

So, Turkey, was a major success, and when we got back we were swiftly up to Derbyshire to visit my family, and belatedly celebrate Aged Ma's 80th birthday. This too was enormous fun - we all booked cottages in the village my sis lives in, and for a week it was pretty much like the Moffatts had invaded. We did some great walks, had a wonderful picnic at Chatsworth, Spouse & I managed to nip over to Sheffield Cathedral to find the George Chapel where fil has a seat in his honour, and it didn't RAIN ONCE. I have never ever known it sunny in Derbyshire, and it was lovely. This being us though, we couldn't escape a teensy bit of adventure, so when we got back from Sheffield, Spouse and I then had to go straight to Derby Hospital as the eldest had an hand injury sustained from nephew's rather sharp football shooting skills. Luckily, it turned out not to be broken, which is what usually happens to us. The next day we took the kids to the cinema, and when I came out I discovered the car was making funny noises (Spouse had gone home by this time). I thought I'd managed to blow the engine up (there's nothing like being confident about one's driving skills), but after a call to the AA I ascertained that some bastard had stolen our catalytic converter. Yes. That's right. Apparently the scrap metal value from catalytic converter's is high. Sodding thing cost £547 to put right and OF COURSE our insurance didn't cover it. Grr.

Got home and discovered Spouse was reorganising bedrooms, so the rest of the holidays was spent throwing stuff out and trying to make the little ones' bedrooms habitable. To which end I have actually succeeded, so for the first time in years, you can (most of the time) actually see their bedroom floors.

So that's the summer done and dusted. And now we're well into the new term, and I have managed to do some writing. In fact it was all going great guns till last week, when I developed the cold from hell, from which I am just recovering. As I have a deadline of the end of the month, I had better get moving sharpish.

So hear endeth the lesson for the moment. I had hoped to blog about sooooo many things... The brilliance of Sherlock for example and my new crush on Benedict Cumberbatch to match my old crush on Martin Freeman; the books I'd read on holiday - highlights including Somewhere Before the End by Diana Athill, and Her Fearful Symmetry by Audrey Niffeneger, weirdly compulsively haunting, great atmosphere, crap lots, but lingers in the mind nonetheless, and Tamsyn Murray's My So Called Afterlife, a lovely moving teen ghost story; Bouquet of Barbed Wire and my weird crush on Trevor Eve considering he always plays jerks; the return of Spooks and my not so weird crush on Richard Armitage, but my deep fear that his time on Spooks is probably numbered, to name but a few.

But alas Time's winged chariot and all that, and I Do have a book to write. But at least I've blogged again. Thank you for your patience if anyone is still out there, reading. I'll try not to leave it so long next time....