We had an RV-less adventure recently when we took a plane (gasp) to the UK, visiting England, Scotland and Ireland. We hit all the main sights but had the added fun of tracing a bit of our family roots.
My grandmother was English, a forever subject of the queen. She was born in the early 1900’s in Stoke on Trent, moved to Norway then back to England before her family set off for America. Her dad, my great grandfather, was a painter and engraver. When she died, her younger brother gave everyone copies of his eulogy to her which included the addresses of all the places they lived in Europe as well as their new home in America. What a treasure that turned out to be. My grandmother was the oldest of five. Sadly, her passing was just the beginning for the siblings as within a couple years they were all gone.
When we were planning our itinerary, I really wanted to go to Stoke and see the two places she lived in town. No rental car was needed since the train ran that stop everyday.
We knew Mark’s grandfather’s background was Scottish and even though staying in Edinburgh was always in our plans, we didn’t really put much thought into going anywhere where his family was from. I’m not even sure why. A few weeks before we left as I was finalizing stuff for my grandmother’s house, I remembered that we had Mark’s great-great grandparents marriage license. I ran to the fire file and sure enough, it was from Scotland. I became a woman on a mission getting information. I didn’t want to damage the parchment so we took a photocopy with us. Next time I will set the print quality on highest as cursive on parchment doesn’t photocopy well.
Our day in Stoke was so much better than I envisioned. We called for an Uber when we left the train station and probably the nicest Uber driver ever picked us up. I told him our plans and asked if he was game to take us to more than one place; he was fully on board with a huge smile. As we drove I told him about my grandmother and her family. The first house we stopped at was where she was born. Suddenly I was very emotional. We pulled to a stop in front of the house, I hopped out and just stared at it. I wanted to take in every detail. There was no way the windows were original but the pretty window work struck me. Maybe that part was. In a room inside that very home, a petite, feisty and deeply religious woman was born. A woman that topped out at 4’11” and only weighed over 100 pounds while pregnant. A woman that softly hummed to herself while puttering around her house.
I peeked into the front window finding an empty baby swing and toys in a box. It was clear nobody was home but I knocked anyway. Our Uber driver was suddenly next to me loudly banging the mail slot; apparently I hadn’t knocked loud enough for him. We took a couple of pictures and left for the next house.
This street was much tighter than the previous one with no place to park. Not to worry said our Uber driver, he’ll move if he needs to. This house was much more plain to me and didn’t have a front porch area. We took a few pictures and I knocked. To my surprise a man answered. I told him that I wasn’t a salesperson, is that even a thing in England? I told him about my grandmother and asked if I could come in and stand in the front room for just a minute. His answer was a polite no, he was just home for lunch but we were welcome to come back after 5. We would be long gone by then so I thanked him and walked back to our car.
Along the drive we had lots of conversations about Stoke and America. Our driver had never been to America and was curious about lots of things, houses especially. As we pulled away from the second house, he excitedly asked if we’d like to see his house. He and his wife bought it a couple of years earlier and were fixing it up. Sure, why not. Then he called his wife to let her know he was coming with two American strangers. Their house was in a little neighborhood that bordered a canal. We pulled up and were quickly invited in for tea. I immediately noticed the rose bushes in the front yard, they were just starting to bud. His wife came out and told me how much she loved roses and always wanted a yard full of them. Inside, they showed us around and we had a nice time chatting and sipping tea. After a few minutes it was time to head to our last stop, Wedgwood. No pictures were allowed during the tour which was a huge bummer.
The tour group was small, maybe 12 of us. That gave us many chances to talk to the guide and tell her my story. She was excited to hear that my great grandfather worked there. She explained how the factory had changed since his time. The painting is still done by hand and told the painters about him when we got to the painting section. About the only thing automated is the kiln. During my great grandfather’s time, keeping a consistent temperature was done by a kiln operator who could be easily spotted. According to our guide, he would be the man without eyebrows.
I couldn’t stop smiling on the train ride back to London. I had seen and touched a part of my heritage.
Our hotel in Edinburgh was an easy walk to the train station. Easy and up a ton of stairs. Mark rocked the suitcases like a champ. After checking in we set off to Milne’s Pub on Rose Street. His namesake pub. Our oldest son found it on his study abroad and we have a giant picture of it hanging in our family room. He flashed his driver’s license hoping for a free pint but no luck. Little did we know that Milne is everywhere in Scotland.
We talked to the hotel staff about our church quest. They were so very helpful, Lauren especially. She knew how to read the marriage license and helped us decipher it. She went to work on her computer finding out exactly where the church was and even found the bus route with a stop about 1,000 feet from the church. With the church information in hand, Mark called and talked to a very nice lady that we guessed to be the church secretary. She confirmed that the bus did indeed stop right by the church and told us of the brand new Sunday bus schedule. Lauren cheered with us about our next day’s adventure.
We sat at dinner talking about what awaited us. We were going to be sitting in the very church where his great great grandparents were married. The. Very. Building. I had to force myself not to cry, cry with anticipation. We’d had such a great day exploring my family and soon it would be his turn. Let’s just say I didn’t sleep much. Like the old Disney commercial, “I’m too excited to sleep.”
Sunday morning we ate a quick breakfast then headed to the bus stop for our ride to history. The village of Ratho less than an hour from Edinburgh. It is a very small village that borders a canal. We were very early and had time to wander the church cemetery. Many of the headstones were impossible to read due to weather and wear. We think we made out a very faint MILNE on one headstone but that was it. Outside the church at the roundabout stood a war memorial and what do you know, we found a Milne.
The church was small, maybe 50 parishioners. To say we stood out was an understatement. The pastor sat down with us and welcomed us. We told him our story and why we were there and his face brightened. Mark pulled out the photocopy, now with Lauren’s notes in the margins. He helped us even further. Yes, we were in the right place, sort of. This is the church his great great grandfather grew up and worshipped in but it was not where he was married. He is much more proficient in reading marriage licenses and showed us that they were actually married in a church in Row in the county of Dumbarten. I was instantly sad inside. We were so close and there wasn’t time in the day to get to the wedding church. Mark, however, wasn’t fazed at all. He was still so happy to be in this place at this moment. He was getting the same see and touch my heritage feelings that I’d had only days before.
The church service was beautiful and the parishioners were so kind. We were invited for post service tea and biscuits and treated like rockstars.
Sunday bus schedule meant we couldn’t get to Row but it also meant we had lots of time before our bus back to Edinburgh arrived. It was an unusually warm day for Scotland and we opted for lunch on the patio at The Bridge Inn. Suddenly the church secretary appeared with a stack of papers all about Row, Dumbarten and the church. We thanked her and she was gone in a flash. Mark ran after her to get her name and picture but she was gone. We read over the papers as we ate and sadly, getting there this trip wasn’t an option. We decided then and there that a return trip after some work at home was in order.
Stay tuned. Standing in the church where his great grandparents were married is on our trip list.