I have been rather preoccupied of late with my family tree. During a clearing out fad, I came across some of my father’s things and that started it. Then, I subscribed to an internet genealogy site. Several days later I have a burgeoning family tree, with 162 forebears, just from the records on the site. It is difficult to know when to stop really. I must have found cousins at least 10 times removed, and lots of other people who share virtually no genes with me, but who I can find a distant link to. Unfortunately, for my other interests, hunting through census and birth, death and marriage (or BMD for those hooked) poses lots of interesting logical problems, which I find quite engaging. So hours fly past; probably all good for people like me who sometimes wonder ‘What shall I do this morning?’ The recent weather has also been wet, gloomy, and quite chilly; not conducive to walking or biking. But very conducive to the seductive charms of the 1841 census return. Non-genealogists will, almost certainly, find that statement unintelligible.
We did get out for a walk on Saturday morning. Mrs D wanted a picture of King Arthur’s stone, situated on Cefyn Bryn. So we went for a walk there and saw several wheatears and skylarks running around desperately seeking food. It was very windy and quite cold so there were not many insects about. A bold skylark was high up, singing wonderfully. One of Mrs D’s pictures is below
There is a burial mound near the stone but their origins are unknown. The Loughor estuary is in the background of the picture.
Migrating birds are now quite common and back at home we saw a couple of, probably ravenous, swallows and a few days ago I heard a grasshopper warbler in the hedge at the front of our house. It did not stay long. So far I have not seen a swift. But I read about one that was first ringed as an adult that was found dead 18 years later. During its life it was calculated that, incredibly, it flew about 4 million miles.
Another intriguing item fell into my ambit concerning long distances recently. I used to own a Volvo 940. It was a splendid beast, very loyal and reliable and I clocked just over 250,000 miles in it.
I was quite proud of this until I found out that the world record is just over 2,900,000 miles held by an american also in a Volvo he bought in 1966. I am suitably humbled. While looking into this subject, I discovered a website where these records are logged and there are eight Volvo 940s listed with more than 500,000 miles; more humbling.
Finally an amusing cutting from the BBC radio programme “The News Quiz”
“There must, for instance, be something very strange in a man who if left alone in a room with a tea cosy doesn’t try it on.” (Glasgow Evening News)