A thirteen-year-old boy in the 1881 census appears in the Oswestry workhouse at Morda, while his siblings were placed elsewhere. His story, and a visit to Llanfyllin, reveal how close this history really is.
A thirteen-year-old boy in the 1881 census appears in the Oswestry workhouse at Morda, while his siblings were placed elsewhere. His story, and a visit to Llanfyllin, reveal how close this history really is.
What began as a short piece about my great-great-grandfather Thomas Edwards, a cabinet maker in Wrexham, soon became something much more. First mentioned in the newspapers in connection with keeping animals in unsanitary conditions, the story took an unexpected turn as I followed the records.
Tracing the family through the streets of Wrexham revealed a picture of everyday life in the Victorian and Edwardian years, a hardworking family raising children and building their lives. Along the way, it became clear that Thomas wasn’t the man responsible for those animals after all.
But the research uncovered far more than I expected, including a family secret that had remained hidden for a generation.
Census records offer one of the richest windows into the lives of our ancestors. Taken every ten years, they reveal households, occupations, and changing family lives across generations. This article explores what the UK censuses from 1841 to 1921 can tell us, and how a single return can help bring family history to life.
When I first started my family tree, I thought I was being careful—until I trusted a well-researched tree that quietly sent an entire branch in the wrong direction. Two first cousins, the same name, the same birth year, and the same village.
Read the blog to see how I untangled it—and what I learned along the way.
A practical introduction to family history research, focused on taking the first step, where to begin, and how to start building your family story step by step.
A reflective post about the role AI tools can play in family history research. Used thoughtfully, they can help us plan next steps, explore historical context, organise notes, and shape family stories. They don’t replace original records or careful research — but they can offer guidance, inspiration, and a fresh way of thinking along the research journey.
Born exactly one hundred years apart, my great-grandfather John Hinton and I entered two very different worlds. By setting his life alongside mine — from Victorian farm service to nurse training, from the Suez Canal to the Moon landing — this story explores how much changed between 1865 and 1965, and how much quietly stayed the same.
The Shoes on the Danube Bank memorial commemorates Jews who were murdered on this stretch of river during the winter of 1944–45. They were killed by members of the Arrow Cross Party, a Hungarian fascist militia operating during the final months of the Second World War.
Some parish registers offer little more than names and dates. Others, very occasionally, tell stories so vivid they feel almost intrusive. The burial register for Prees, Shropshire (1782–1799) records causes of death, burial locations within the churchyard, and — unusually — family relationships, even for adults. Together, they reveal lives, losses, and clerical honesty rarely preserved for this period.
A moving encounter with the World War I Ossuary at Passo Tonale, reminding me that history and sacrifice are never far from the places we travel for pleasure.
