The Night Before Christmas
Twas the night before Christmas
When all through the house
Not a creature was stirring,
Not even my spouse.
The dining room table with clutter was spread
With pedigree charts and with letters which said...
"Too bad about the data for which you wrote;
Sank in a storm on an ill-fated boat."
Stacks of old copies of wills and such
Were proof that my work had become too much.
Our children were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of sugarplums danced in their heads.
And I at my table was ready to drop
From work on my album with photos to crop.
Christmas was here, and such was my lot
That presents and goodies and toys I'd forgot.
Had I not been busy with grandparents' wills,
I'd not have forgotten to shop for such thrills,
While others bought gifts to bring Christmas cheers,
I'd spent time researching those birthdates and years.
While I was thus musing about my sad plight,
A strange noise on the lawn gave me such a great fright.
Away to the window I flew in a flash,
Tore open the drapes and yanked up the sash.
When what with my wondering eyes should appear,
But an overstuffed sleigh and eight small reindeer.
Up to the house top the reindeer they flew,
With a sleigh full of toys and 'ole Santa Claus, too.
And then in a twinkle, I heard on the roof
The prancing and pawing of thirty-two hoofs.
As I drew in my head, and bumped it on the sash,
Down the cold chimney fell Santa--KER-RASH!
"Dear" Santa had come from the roof in a wreck,
And tracked soot on the carpet, (I could wring his short neck!)
Spotting my face, good 'ole Santa could see
I had no Christmas spirit you'd have to agree.
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work
And filled all the stockings, (I felt like a jerk).
Here was Santa, who'd brought us such gladness and joy:
When I'd been too busy for even one toy.
He spied my research on the table all spread
"A genealogist!" He cried! (My face was all red!)
"Tonight I've met many like you," Santa grinned,
As he pulled from his sack a large book he had penned.
I gazed with amusement--the cover it read
Genealogy Lines for Which You Have Plead.
"I know what it's like as a genealogy bug."
He said as he gave me a great Santa hug.
"While the elves make the sleighful of toys I now carry,
I do some research in the North Pole Library!
A special treat I am thus able to bring,
To genealogy folk who can't find a thing."
"Now off you go to your bed for a rest,
I'll clean up the house from this genealogy mess."
As I climbed up the stairs full of gladness and glee,
I looked back at Santa who'd brought much to me.
While settling in bed, I heard Santa's clear whistle,
To his team, which then rose like the down of a thistle.
And I heard him exclaim as he flew out of sight,
"Family history is Fun! Merry Christmas! Goodnight!"
Many Thanks to UnKoWn
The Twelve Days of a Genealogy Christmas
On the twelfth day of Christmas,
My true love gave to me,
Twelve census searches,
Eleven printer ribbons,
Ten e-mail contacts,
Nine headstone rubbings,
Eight birth and death dates,
Seven town clerks sighing,
Six second cousins,
Five coats of arms,
Four GEDCOM files,
Three old wills,
Two CD-ROMs,
And a branch in my family tree.
Merry Christmas to everyone!!
GENEALOGIST'S PRAYER
God grant me the serenity to accept the ancestors I cannot find, the courage to find the ones I can, and the wisdom to document thoroughly.
Many Thanks to Keith for this one
GENEALOGIST'S PRAYER
Lord, help me dig into the past,
And sift the sands of time,
That I might find the roots that made
This family tree of mine.
Lord, help me trace the ancient roads,
On which my fathers trod,
And led them through so many lands,
To find our present sod.
Lord, help me find an ancient book,
Or dusty manuscript,
That's safely hidden now away,
In some forgotten crypt.
Lord, let it bridge the gap that haunts
My soul, when I can't find
The missing link between some name
That ends the same as mine.
-Author Unknown
Dear Ancestor
Your tombstone stands among the rest
Neglected and alone
The name and date are chiseled out
On polished marble stone
It reaches out to all who care
It is too late to mourn
You did not know that I exist
You died and I was born
Yet each of us are cells of you
In flesh and blood and bone
Our blood contracts and beats a pulse
Entirely not our own
Dear Ancestor.. the place you filled
One hundred years ago
Spreads out among the ones you left
Who would have loved you so
I wonder if you lived and loved
I wonder if you knew
That someday I would find this spot
And come to visit you.
UnKnOwn
The 23rd Psalm for Genealogists"
Genealogy is my Pastime ...
I shall not stray,
It maketh me to lie down
and examine half-buried Tombstones;
It leadeth me into still Courthouses.
It restoreth my Ancestral Knowledge;
It leadeth me into the Paths of Census Records
and Ships Passenger Lists for my Surnames' sake;
Yes, though I wait through the Shadows
of Research Libraries and Microfilm Readers,
I shall fear no Discouragment,
for a Strong Urge is with me.
The curiosity and Motivation,
they Comfort me;
It demandeth preparation of Storage Space
for the Aquisition of Countless Documents;
It anointeth my Head with burning Midnight Oil,
My Family Group Sheets runneth over.
Surely Birth,Marriage and Death dates
shall follow me all the Days of my Life,
And I shall dwell in the House
of a Family History Seeker Forever.
IIf you could see your ancestors
All standing in a row,
Would you be proud of them or not,
Or don't you really know?
Some strange discoveries are made
In climbing family trees,
And some of them, you know, do not
Particularly please.
If you could see your ancestors
All standing in a row,
There might be some of them perhaps
You wouldn't care to know.
But here's another question, which
Requires a different view;
If you could meet your ancestors,
Would they be proud of you???.
Author Unknown
Many thanks to John Milne
I'm a genial genealogist,
> I seek the secrets of the past,
> Whether squeaky clean or scarlet-lettered,
> I want my past unmasked.
>
> I must keep my tongue-in-cheek,
> And temper what I find,
> For who knows how many horse thieves,
> May be lurking in my line.
>
> I thought I'd be methodical,
> First, I asked some relatives,
> That is, those who were still speaking,
> That could be informative.
>
> I almost wished I hadn't asked,
> For a family feud ensued,
> Over Great-grandma's given name,
> Was it Gerta or Gertrude?
>
> Then I went up to the attic,
> Where old trunks and boxes were,
> I found a myriad of papers,
> Out of order, to be sure.
>
> But in my quest for history,
> I found a lot of stuff,
> Journals and old Bibles,
> Birth Certificates and such.
>
> I thought I'd hit the jackpot,
> I took my treasures down below,
> And embarked upon my family search,
> For those things I wished to know.
>
> I learned my Great-great-great-grandmother,
> On my Mother's side,
> Came over from Old Ireland,
> As a little Irish bride.
>
> Imagine - she was just sixteen,
> She left home all by herself,
> A new husband did await her here,
> My, I wonder how she felt.
>
> What a lot of nerve that took,
> How could that child adjust?
> I smiled, for now I knew,
> Where Mama got her guts.
>
> Great-great-grandpa, I discovered,
> Fought under Washington,
> He met his death at Valley Forge,
> When our troops had been undone.
>
> Then Great-great-grandma wed again,
> Now, she was my Great-grandmother's Mother,
> And she gave birth to four boys and girls,
> Who became her Half-sisters and Half-brothers.
>
> I guess that makes them Half-of-kin,
> But, here's where I get confused,
> Were they Half-great-uncles, Half-great-aunts,
> Or Great-greats, twice-removed?
>
> My Grandma had a cousin,
> Who I know was once-removed,
> That was when he went to jail,
> They said he bootlegged booze.
>
> We don't talk about him much,
> Though I often smile to myself,
> No one is willing to admit,
> Through him came the family wealth.
>
> There are some family traits,
> That my seeking has disclosed,
> Like my Sis's lisp from Uncle Chris,
> And her nose from Great-aunt Rose.
>
>
> Every family has a black sheep,
> There were several on Mom's side,
> One was a one-eyed pirate,
> Who had kidnapped an English bride.
>
> I guess he plundered many ships,
> And killed a lot of men,
> Dad took pride he was from Mom's side,
> But Mom said, "Look again."
>
> What a journey I was on,
> Almost addicted and obsessed,
> I spent so much time in yesteryear,
> I thought I'd retrogressed.
>
> Of all the searching I had done,
> I'd indeed found something rare,
> I'm the only one from either side,
> That's been endowed with bright red hair.
>
> When I checked this out with both my folks,
> Dad frowned and Mama grinned,
> With apology to genealogy,
> Perhaps I should let my queries end.
>
Many thanks to Sandra Stewart
>
Black Sheep
The black sheep of the family
Makes fun of boring genealogy
If you’re afraid of sordid history
Don’t go looking up your family tree.
You never know who you might see
Going through the pages of history
You might find a cousin in your tree
Someone famous, or the Ripper, maybe
My Thanks to Miles Wright for this one.
Census Man Bob.
The knock on the door, was insistant and clear,
John opened the door, said, the census man's here,
He bade the man enter, said, please to sit down,
John's mother was worried, her face wore a frown,
The census man entered, said, to all a good day,
Looked at John's mother, her nerves seemed affray,
As he sat at the table, to each child he did look,
While he set down his ink, his quill pen and his book.
The children they watched him, all nine were nearby,
George William was frightened, he sat down to cry,
The man asked his questions, where was Mum born,
My husband's at work, he was gone before dawn,
How many children and what are their ages,
Soon he may ask her, just what were Dad's wages,
She vowed not tell, he would just have to guess,
How old was she now, thirty nine more or less.
Why were they prying, she felt she might weep,
As she looked at her baby in his cradle, asleep,
The census man, kindly, said, don't be afraid,
For he saw by her face, she was slightly dismayed,
Now this is a census, and I'll tell you what for,
I am not here to pry, so don't show me the door,
It's a goverment count of population and such,
Records for the future, we don't ask too much.
The man he seemed friendly, his name it was Bob,
Mum took the black kettle down from the hob,
The "Old Willow," teacups were laid on the table,
A newly baked sponge cake, was set down by Mabel,
Who poured out the tea, and said I'll be mother,
As census man Bob asked the name of each brother,
He asked which of the children, if any could write,
And who there, could spell out their surname tonight.
Census man Bob, was the genealogist's joy,
He explained all so well to the eldest boy,
One hunded years on, when we are deceased,
These records I write, will then be released,
Then maybe the son of your grandson's son,
Will search for this family and find everyone,
John's mother listened, her nervousness gone,
She named each of her children, one by one.
She told Bob the truth, occupations and ages,
An exact account in the census man's pages ,
With friendly persuasion, no holding his collar,
John spelled their surnames, for he was a scholar,
Census man Bob, had learned ten years before,
He must be real friendly or some closed the door,
Some people lied and some just wouldn't tell,
Some did their best though they just couldn't spell.
© 2000 Carole A. M. Johnson
Generation Flu
There is a spreading epidemic called the Generation Flu,
which is passed down to children and aquaintances too,
Once the disease of royalty, of peers and knights of old,
it has spread throughout the universe, it's seed to bring to fold,
It is a contagious virus with a great verocious greed,
for the tombstone and the graveyard, certificate and deed.
The victims of this virus have a great compelling urge,
to link their names unto your family, there is no known purge.
They will even give you software if they find that you have none,
for they feel a dire need for this disease to be passed on,
They crave for a new surname, will search each surname list,
will peruse each list a thousand times, lest a surname may be missed.
You will find them in a graveyard, perhaps grovelling on their knees,
seeking long forgotton surnames which they then call roots and trees.
A computer will make matters worse, they will surf the internet,
searching out those roots and trees to make this flu a greater threat.
They cannot have a conversation without the need to add,
that yesterday they found a link to great grandfather's dad.
They are happy to converse with other victims of this flu,
Will often join their ranks to search in greater groups, It's true!
They look up parish registers, they search the census years,
They talk about brick walls and of assigns and of their heirs.
As the illness progresses you will see their manner change,
You must never move their files or in their study rearrange.
***************************************************
Symptoms and Diagnosis
A faraway look, consentration, blank expression, aggravation,
A truly morbid facination, for graveyard jaunts as recreation,
There is no known cure for the generation virus,
with it's roots in the past with the pharoahs and papyrus,
The disease is not fatal but the symptoms will get worse,
Give the patient a quiet room, there is no need to nurse.
******************************
Copyright 2001 Carole A M Johnson
