Wordless Wednesday: the family christening gown

Wordless Wednesday: the family christening gown

I think all the Ramsay babies – at least in my generation – were christened in this gown. Eighteen children – and only two with the Ramsay surname.

Here are some other Wordless Wednesdays I’ve enjoyed:

http://cindi-keller.com/2014/03/19/wordless-wednesday-cousins-1963/

http://genealogylady.net/2014/03/19/wordless-wednesday-story-time/

http://lucidgypsy.wordpress.com/2014/03/19/wordless-wednesday-93/

http://lanivcox.wordpress.com/2014/03/19/salad-terrace-from-farm-to-fork/

http://lipstickandplaydates.wordpress.com/2014/03/18/wordless-wednesday-91/

http://masteringmotherhood.wordpress.com/2014/03/13/wordless-wednesday-tigger/

http://oneofthosememories.com/2014/03/12/wordless-wednesday-132/

http://sued51too.wordpress.com/2014/03/12/wordless-wednesday-from-the-shoebox/

http://mypeopleinhistory.wordpress.com/2014/03/12/wordless-wednesday-father-daughter-dance/

http://wellerharvey.wordpress.com/2014/03/12/wordless-wednesday-march-12-2014/

 

Wordless Wednesday: babies love books

Books have always been part of the boy-child's life. His father was reading The House at Pooh Corner to him while we were still in the maternity ward.

Books have always been part of the boy-child’s life. His father was reading The House at Pooh Corner to him while we were still in the maternity ward.

We discovered very early on that sharing a book with him - just holding it, reading the story and talking about the pictures would engage him.

We discovered very early on that sharing a book with him – even just holding it and talking about the pictures – was enough to engage him.

An epiphany at about five months; we handed him a book upside down and he turned it around.

An epiphany at about five months; we handed him a book upside down and he turned it right way up.

Early favourites; The Very Hungry Caterpillar, Buzzy Bee counting book, Ten Little Rabbits and appropriately enough, The Baby Who Wouldn't Go to Bed!

Early favourites; The Very Hungry Caterpillar, the Buzzy Bee counting book, Duck is Dirty, Ten Little Rabbits and appropriately enough, The Baby Who Wouldn’t Go to Bed!

Adding a new dimension to the term "devouring a book."

Adding a new dimension to the term “devouring a book.”

Not much has changed really.

Not much has changed really.

“two nations divided by a common language”

“two nations divided by a common language”

Just a quick post in response to Mustang.Koji’s question about something I wrote in Sleep.

“What is a pram?’

My dad and me. Beveridge Park, Kirkcaldy, 1962.

My dad and me. Beveridge Park, Kirkcaldy, 1962.

It’s not clear who said that Britain and America are two nations divided by a common language (Oscar Wilde, George Bernard Shaw or Churchill are the main contenders), but the idiosyncrasies of language continue to confuse and confound.

So for those of you (and I know there is at least one) wondering what a “pram” might be, it’s the rather stylish vehicle in the black and white photo. Short for perambulator, these are now pretty much relegated to museums and replaced by more user-friendly devices like the one below containing my son.

Tom and me. Emberton Park, Olney, England, 1999.

Tom in his stroller/buggy/push-chair (take your pick). Emberton Park, Olney, England, 1999.

I’m not sure how much of my childhood I spent being wheeled around in this shiny metallic contraption, but I can’t imagine it was a lot of fun for my parents. They didn’t own a car in those days, so any trip that wasn’t walkable would have involved getting me and my wheels onto a bus.

By the time my brother Craig came along, my mother must have had to deal with the nightmarish daily scenario of baby-in-pram PLUS two-year-old presumably not in pram. In Scotland. Where it rains. A lot.

I remember what it was like having to faff around with Tom’s stroller when he was small and howling. There were days I found that incredibly stressful, and the thought of having to do so with a bus-load of people watching and waiting brings me out in a cold sweat even now.

before I leave christenings

My christening; four generations of strong women. My mother, grandmother, great-grandmother and - as it turns out - me.

My christening and four generations of strong women. My mother, grandmother, great-grandmother and – as it turns out – me.

While I’ve been on the subject of babies, christenings and naming ceremonies, I found these photos and wanted to include them. The photo above shows Katherine Black, Margaret Cruden and Elizabeth Ramsay – the maternal line that led to me (the cute one all wrapped up in white).

Looking back, it seems to me that the lives of these three women were not dissimilar, but very different to mine. My great-grandmother and grandmother both married at 18; my mother at 19. Katherine (great-grandmother) and Margaret (grandmother) were pregnant at the time of their marriages;  my mum had to wait four years for a child, and then my older brother was stillborn. Katherine raised five children, Margaret six, my mum three. Weirdly, both my great grandmother and grandmother had husbands with prosthetic legs. My great grandfather was wounded in WWI; my grandfather suffered from diabetes and lost both legs to gangrene.

I don’t know how much formal education my great grandmother or grandmother had, but I know my mum had to leave school at 15 because her father thought any more education would be wasted on a girl who “was only going to get married”, and besides, the family needed her wages. Until she married she was a weaver in Nairn’s linoleum factory in Kirkcaldy. On Katherine’s marriage certificate it says she was a housekeeper. My grandmother’s occupation on marriage was listed as shop assistant.

Although I also left school young (major rebellion at 16), I studied at night school to get University Entrance and have ended up with two post-graduate degrees. I have one child, born when I was 36 and have never married his father – though we’ve lived together for almost 22 years.

I look more and more like my maternal ancestors as I get older and feel a greater kinship with them then ever before, so perhaps the fact that my life has been so different to theirs says a little bit about the gains feminism has made –  at least for my generation.

Alexander Cruden and Katherine (nee Black); my great grandparents with my at my christening.

Alexander Cruden and Katherine (nee Black); my great grandparents with me at my christening.

Basically, I just love this one. I love the fact that I look so adoringly at the old woman holding me and that my great grandfather looks so lovingly at me. Admittedly, great gran looks a bit underwhelmed; but I guess by the time I came along, she was probably totally over babies . Who can blame her?

 

On ancestry in the making

On ancestry in the making

I’ve been posting about “family history in the making” and then I read Helen Tovey’s blog post on “becoming an ancestor”. It’s made me think about how important it is to document the present (and recent past).

Today is a particularly appropriate day for such thoughts as it’s my son’s 15th birthday. He is my only child, so his birthday is not just a celebration of his life, but of his father and I becoming a family rather than a couple.

I sometimes wonder if our pleasure in that doesn’t almost outweigh the boy-child’s enjoyment of presents, cake and devoted parental attention for the day. And that got me thinking about his day.

Naming Day, Thomas Alexander Gray.

The boy-child with proud parents and god-parents.

We’re not religious, so a christening was out of the question, but when he was born, I remember thinking that it was important to celebrate the significance of his life to us in some way. It took a while to organise (10 months), but on 17 January, 1999 we held a naming ceremony for our baby boy. Continue reading