Category: history

How do I find pictures of ancestors?

Most of us take thousands of photos each year with our phones. It is a long way from when I was growing up and I had a very old camera that only took black and white film. Each photograph was carefully chosen and then I had to wait till the film was used up before taking it to a chemist and waiting a couple of weeks to find out if any of the pictures had come out, or if they were out of focus or had my finger in front of the lens.

I have mentioned before that I like to study family history, and one of the challenges I have found is old photographs. My cousin Pat and I have lots of old pictures of family but most of them have no names and we struggle to work out who they are. The best we can do is to try to look for matches. For instance, I think that this photograph is my great great aunt Elizabeth Capener.

But Pat has this photo about 30 years later. Is it the same person?

For a long time I have worried that the massive photo collections we now have will be even harder to collate once we are gone. Photos are no longer special to us so although they have many meta tags on things like place and time, they don’t know who the people are.

I downloaded IOS 26 on my iPhone this week, and it is full of the latest AI tools. It can turn any photograph into a 3D image. It can create panoramas by merging photos. And it has the security of really good facial recognition. So the technology for matching faces is out there. But without being a professional developer I have not found an app that does it for me. Is there one?

Either way, such tools are coming, and I think that family historians will have an easier time in future. Or maybe we will simply be redundant when a bot just does all the work for us.

Anyway, are these photos Elizabeth? What do you think?

EDIT I have just used ChatGPT and it has done an incredible job matching the photos, pointing out things like the left eyelids being slightly droopy and the deep set eyes with identical spacing. They are likely to be the same person. Hello great great aunt Elizabeth!

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Can you have a community when houses are miles apart?

We felt very lucky this week to be invited to join the local people at a bonfire night celebration.

North Uist is a sparsely populated island, and the cottage we are staying in is in one of the remotest areas – Balranald. It has a church, a few houses, quite a few cows and a bird sanctuary. In the summer it has a campsite that looks as if it would be pretty busy but at this time of year that is closed and there is no one here.

That suits us very well. Whether on Narrowboat Thuis, or at home, we are comfortable with our own company and have had a very relaxing time here. The nearest proper village is Bhaigh (Bayhead) which is four miles away. It has about 40 houses and a shop. It also has the High School for North Uist, and every day about twenty minibuses carry the children to school from all around the island.

On bonfire night they bring together the local community to eat burgers, drink Irn Bru and watch fireworks. It was a great night. Not the most impressive display I have ever seen but still a very good one, complemented by the bonfire, the full moon, and the reflections in the sea. But what really made it was a couple of hundred people from toddlers to ancients gathered to enjoy it together.

The Hebridean accent is probably the softest of all the Scottish areas and I could hear it in the excitement of the little ones, the bickering of the teens, and the conversations between farmers and other locals. They had all arrived in their pickup trucks from miles around to be together.

One thing that did amuse me was hearing a father telling his child how good it was to celebrate the foiling of a Catholic plot, five hundred years later. Until the five mile causeway was built between the islands in 1960, there was very little mixing between Catholic South Uist and Protestant North Uist. I guess some views remain pretty embedded.

It was a lovely evening and it was good to be able to join such a distant but close community. Thank you.

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Why does the Coventry Canal have a gap in the middle?

We are travelling towards Oxford on Narrowboat Thuis. That means navigating the Trent & Mersey, The Coventry, the North Oxford and finally the South Oxford Canals. It will take us about three weeks. There is one complication in this route. The Coventry Canal starts at Fradley Junction and travels down to Coventry city centre. But there is a gap of a few miles in the middle.

The good news is that this gap is filled by a chunk of the Birminghams and Fazeley Canal. Why?

In a week in which the HS2 train scheme overran yet again, it is reminder that in history nothing changes. In 1768, at the height of canal building mania, a group of rich entrepreneurs got together to build the Coventry Canal, with the aim of connecting Coventry to the Bedworth coal fields and then the Trent & Mersey Canal at Fradley junction, joining Coventry to the North of England. They employed the greatest canal engineer of the time, James Brindley, who had previously planned the Bridgewater, the Chester, the Trent & Mersey and the Staffordshire & Worcester. Everyone was very optimistic.

At first, everything went well and in just a year they were bringing cheap coal from Bedworth to Coventry. But then the money began to run out and by 1771 they had sacked Brindley and gone bust. Eventually more money was found but it took till 1790 to extend the canal to Fazeley, where by that time the Birmingham and Fazeley canal had been built, connecting Birmingham to the Trent & Mersey at Whittington Brook.

Around the same time the Oxford Canal was completed, connecting the Coventry to Oxford and hence London on the Thames. This was immensely successful and at last the shareholders began to make money, big money. They wanted to realise their original plans, and were able to buy the stretch from Whittington Brook to Fradley from the Trent & Mersey. But the Birmingham and Fazeley refused to sell.

So there we are today, with the Coventry Canal split in the middle.

I love canal history. Our life today was enabled by a small number of entrepreneurs who lost or gained fortunes. And by thousands of poorly paid navvies, cutting the navigations with picks and shovels.

We are so lucky to be able to enjoy the fruit of their labours. And to remember their sacrifices.

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How long is 29 years?

I went to the cinema this week, to see “Mission Impossible – The Final Reckoning”. It started slowly, but once it got going, wow what an adventure! I have been a fan since the first film in 1996, and this final film brings all the stories together. It seems only yesterday that the franchise began, and now it is all over. The time since 1996 has gone in a flash.

By coincidence I have also this week been listening to podcasts and watching videos about the end of the Second World War. That was a different time; a time for my grandparents, a very long time ago. And yet, when I was born in 1964, that was only 19 years after the war.

So how can 29 years be no time at all and yet 19 years be an age? It must be a bias we all have to our lifetimes. My mid thirties children would probably classify the fall of the Berlin Wall as being part of history. For me it is not long ago. Current teens would probably classify a world without smartphones as being part of history, but for me, I remember my first brick like mobile phone with great affection. It was a Nokia 2140 and I paid for 15 minute of calls every month, with no texts and of course no data. It was the coolest thing in the world.

I love researching family history so I decided to ask my Mum about her own childhood recollections of times that I consider to be history. Interestingly her strongest memories are about family and friends. Yes there was a war on, but that was just background to growing up. It was normal.

She did say that her favourite film was Bambi. That was before even Mission Impossible 1. A very long time ago.

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What is luxury?

Mandy and I spent a couple of nights this week in our favourite hotel – Swinton Park in North Yorkshire, For us this was total luxury.

For a start, the hotel is a castle, owned by the Earl and Countess of Swinton. We were upgraded to a suite, and when not in our room there are multiple reception rooms with open fires and sofas to lounge around. There is even a Billiard Room with a full sized snooker table. There is the formal Samuel’s Restaurant and the more relaxed Terrace, both serving amazing food. On the second night we shared a Cote de Boeuf which was simply perfect.

As well as the hotel, there are extensive grounds with woodland, a deer park and lakes to walk the dogs. And a large Spa has pools, saunas and a steam room, to wash away the troubles of the world. I was even given a personal history tour of the hotel with someone who has been working there for 40 years and knew just about everything about the estate.

We have returned much relaxed and ready for our next adventure. But I wonder if this would be luxury for everyone. The rich and famous must live like this all the time. I wonder if luxury for King Charles is to kick his shoes off and watch Coronation Street with beans and toast on his lap. I wonder if luxury for Bill Gates is a day with no meetings.

I am not sure I would like to live in such opulence all the time, but for a couple of days it was my luxury.

I am a lucky man.

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I hate weed

There are certain jobs on a narrowboat that are not very nice. Pumping out the toilet tank is perhaps the worst. But pulling weed and rubbish from around the prop comes a close second. And this week’s canal from Chester to Ellesmere Port is one of the weediest in the country.

If you drive through the vegetation at normal speed, the propellor turns and pulls the weed around it. This causes the steering to fail, the boat to go much slower, and even the engine to stall. To avoid this, there are techniques we have learnt. Drive at speed up to the patch of weed, and then take it out of gear. The boat hopefully floats through the weed unscathed. Or if you do get some weed, try a hard reverse to “spin” it off again. But if neither of these works, you have to moor up the boat, lift the deck boards, climb into the engine bay, unscrew the weed hatch cover, reach down into the murky cold water and pull the weed off the prop and rudder. Fortunately this week I have only had to do that a few times.

It was worth the effort though, because we were able to moor for two nights in the middle of the National Waterways Museum at Ellesmere Port.

I have written in a previous blog about nights in the museum, but suffice to say it is one of our favourite moorings in the mornings and evenings when no-one is around and we have the place to ourselves. It is also a place full of history, where the Shropshire Union Canal joins the huge Manchester Ship Canal and the River Mersey. In times past it would have been a dirty, noisy dock with hundreds of workers and surrounded by heavy industry. A quiet place today, full of memories.

My son Rob says he loves most of my blogs but not the ones where I complain about something that has annoyed me this week. Sorry Rob but I don’t like weed.

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Who is this man?

I have written before that one of my hobbies is researching my family tree. This week I received a pack of old photographs from one of my Mum’s cousins. He has been tidying his house and knew that I am interested in the family, so sent them to me. He kindly annotated the backs of the pictures when he knew who they were, but this photograph was blank.

Most of the pictures are from the family of a man called John Davies, a distant cousin who was a chaplain serving in the Royal Navy, I knew the navy had chaplains but did not realise that they sailed on the ships for many months, just like ordinary sailors. John also served on submarines where he said that the confined space led to depression and need of a chaplain.

There were also photographs and newspaper articles about John’s relations. His father and grandfather were also priests, working in a small area of Wales. His grandmother was a very posh looking woman called Dorothy Jebb. She is my great great aunt and came from a very wealthy family.

But I am still stuck on this photograph. He looks a very smart soldier, I am guessing from the First World War. With three crosses on his wrist, perhaps he was a captain? John and his father both had low eyebrows, so it is not them.

In future times perhaps AI will allow me to search this photograph and find who it was, but for now I think it is sad that such a photograph, maybe made for a mother or sweetheart, cannot be identified. I will raise a glass to him.

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Why is the Calder and Hebble unique?

We have cruised most of the canals and rivers in the UK in recent years. There are over 2000 miles of navigation and every one is different. But this week we have been along the Calder and Hebble and that really is unique.

From Fall Ing lock near Wakefield, to Sowerby Bridge, the canal and river navigation is just 23 miles long, built in around 1770 to connect the mill towns of Yorkshire to the rest of the country.

Let me tell you about three things you will not find anywhere else. The first is the short length of the locks. They can just about fit our narrowboat at 57.5 ft, but any longer and you really are in danger of getting stuck or flooded. There are other canals known for short locks, including the Leeds and Liverpool that we have recently left, but none as consistently short as the Calder and Hebble.

The second uniqueness is the Guillotine lock at Salterhebble. Most locks have pairs of wooden or steel gates that close together to hold the water back. Sometimes these are electrically operated but this one also operates as a guillotine, a single metal gate that goes up and down. It was installed after a road widening meant there was no room to keep normal gates. I have read that there are a few other guillotines around the country but as far as I am concerned this is unique.

The third unique thing is the “Hebble spike”, a piece of 3” x 2” shaped hardwood that is used to open and close lock sluices. I have no idea why these were used when this canal was built, rather than the windlasses we use on almost every other canal, but it has certainly been a unique experience to use this week. It is hard work!

I have enjoyed the week of uniqueness. Next week we travel the Rochdale canal. Maybe not so unique but even more of a challenge. I’ll let you know how we get on.

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Enjoying Liverpool

Usually when we are on our big narrowboat trips we have a couple of days off each week, when we don’t move the boat, and either do “jobs” or chill out. But this week we decided to take six days off and moor in Liverpool docks.

Mooring here is one of the wonders of the waterways. The docks were designed for great ocean going ships and so our narrowboat is dwarfed by the high docksides and massive bollards.

To get here we came down four locks from the main canal, and then steered through about six historic docks, passing many famous landmarks of Liverpool.

While here I have done a number of tourist things, including visiting both cathedrals, a stately home, and the houses where John Lennon and Paul McCartney grew up.

We also got to spend time with our niece Zoë and her new fiancé Guy. Zoë helped us on the journey here.

I think the thing I have enjoyed the most is just being moored quietly in the very centre of one of England’s great cities.

Thanks for a great week Liverpool. We will be back.

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What was my great great great grandfather like?

I was wandering around Tewkesbury Abbey late on Saturday afternoon. It is a beautiful church and the sunlight streamed through the stained glass windows, painting pictures of the floor. In one of the side aisles they had an exhibition of pictures of the high street last century. One of the pictures was this:

It gave me a bit of a shock because John Dobell was my great great great grandfather. He had a fascinating life, coming from poverty in Cranbrook, Kent. As a teenager he became apprenticed to a wine merchant in London called Samuel Thompson. John fell in love with Samuel’s daughter Julietta. Samuel was a radical Protestant preacher, and when John and Julietta married in a church, Samuel stood up and denounced the ceremony. I am guessing there was a falling out because John and Julietta moved to Cheltenham, and over the next years, built their own business, based in Cheltenham and Tewkesbury.

They became very wealthy, and that money was passed down the generations. Even my Grannie was brought up with servants in big houses. Unfortunately the money all went, and the Dobell family trust was finally wound up around 1995. The remaining funds were split amongst the youngest generation. I think my two sons got about £200 each.

Still, it is interesting to think about what the Dobells’ life would have been like. The shop in the advert is still there, although no longer a wine merchant:

Isn’t family history fascinating?

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