I thought our English family were all from Yorkshire. My Granddad spoke with a very thick accent til the day he died - being Australian, it was often hard to understand him. I loved my grandparents, and very much felt part of my inheritance WAS British. They'd immigrated after World War Two - Australia had the opportunity that England didn't. They moved over with six children and would never go back, although England would always be their home.

Many years later, I married an Englishman, and moved to Somerset, near Bath. My mother informed me that Granddad's parents were from there - not from Yorkshire. They'd moved to Sheffield in the early 1900's and Granddad was born there. Exploring at little about where they were from, I found I was living not six miles from a place where my Great, great uncles war memorial was (he died in World War One) and my great, great Grandfather lived. In fact, if I follow the family line back, I can go back to 1677 in Wiltshire (which borders Somerset) - and it appears I have been somehow dragged back to my roots, from the other side of the world.

And so what follows is a little bit of the digging into the family history, with messages back and forth to Mum in Australia, with the little bits and pieces she remembers. There's much more than this, and a handful more photographs, but that's for another post, or perhaps a cleaning up of this one. Family histories are complicated, lengthy and elusive things. I've likely got a few details a little iffy, but I'll come back and edit them when I know more, and am more awake - it's getting late here, and tomorrow we're moving to a boat for a few weeks in the very area my ancestors are from. Strange days indeed.

The couple below are Worthy Watts, my great, great Grandfather, and his wife Mary Ann Rose. They cut a swarthy couple. I can imagine them as hardy folk. Worthy was a labourer - there is no known profession listed for her. Worthy Watts or William Worthy Watts depending on where you read it was born 21st February 1843 at Hinton Charterhouse, Somerset. He died 11th April 1917 in Norton St. Phillip. Mary Ann Watts, nee Rose was born in 1847 in Norton St. Phillip and died 1932. They were married on 25th October 1868 in the Parish Church at Norton St. Phillip. Worthy was described as a labourer on the certificate and Mary had no work described. I have come across 5 different census forms from 1851 up until 1911 with them living at various addresses in Norton St. Phillip. They had a total of 12 children, 3 of whom seem to have died young. In 1901 Mary's mother was living with them, described as a Pauper, aged 90 years old. Worthy was a Quarryman for most of his working life, so I don't think he was ever a servant working in a big house, such as the one in the photo. I would guess the photo was taken around 1910 looking at the age of the two of them. The quarryman makes sense - there were many quarries in the area.

Below are a few pictures of the area, and the streets they lived on, according to the census. I do know there are still Watts in the area. I don't doubt I have blood around here, however diluted.

My Great Uncle is also on the war memorial.

Their eldest, Charles, married Eliza Bath, and promised her the world, though he couldn't provide it. Apparently she was in love with a man who stole a sandwich on his first day on the job, so her parents wouldn't allow them to be married. Instead she got Charles. There's a whole military history too, for Charles, but I'm yet to piece that together.

In the photograph below is Charles and Eliza, and my great uncle Albert, and great Aunties Edie and Evelyn - and the one below that, my Grandfather Fred, who was a sickly child until he was fed lots of cabbage, I'm told. Albert was much sterner and tougher, and didn't ever write my Granddad when he moved to Australia. Granddad became a bricklayer, so he didn't go down the mines like Albert.

A few things about Eliza, because it appears her mother's side is traceable back to the 1600's in Wiltshire. Her mother was in the census at 14 as a servant, so it's likely that's how she ended up in Freshford, because there are many manor houses there. She turns up in the census married to John Bath, who died in 1880, not long after one of her children are born. Susan is then listed as living in Hinton Charterhouse as a laundress, widowed, with her children. We found the house, pictured below.

John and baby Susan Bath are buried at Hinton Charterhouse, though their graves aren't marked (only the well off could get gravestones). The church is pictured below. It's a stunning spot, and so close to Bath - lots of very expensive houses!

Susan Bath nee Butcher then marries Albert Deverill, and have one child. Granddad's memory is that his mother had lots of sisters and they lived in a farm with lots of horses. That doesn't account for her much older brother Edward, or step brother Albert. Memory is a funny thing. Edward died at Flanders.

Back to Charles and Eliza. They moved to Sheffield, likely as he got a job with the railway. Apparently he got a medal for rescuing people in a train crash.

Then, Granddad and his sisters are born in Derbyshire. Granddad grows up to marry Betty Barber, mother Florence, father James.

I can't trace this side of the story too far back yet, but the story goes that Florence's mother had her out of wedlock, with one of four Italian brothers. I like to think I have this Italian ancestry. But not speaking Italian or having access to the records, it's the best I can do to get back to Florence, my great grandmother, and her father Giovanni, and her mother. More might come to light as I dig, but it's not as clear as the Wiltshire/Somerset side.

In the photograph, James only has one arm, though you can't tell. He was awfully young in WW1, signing up at only 16. He was shot in the hand, taken prisoner of war. The wound became gangrenous so a Russian Doctor had to amputate. The doctor used to steal milk and such like to keep him alive but as he was also a prisoner he didn’t have much to work with. I wonder about that shot in the hand, and how exactly it happened. Some things - many things - we will never know.

The next photo is Florence again with Betty, my great grandmother. Florence made the dresses. I think she was quite fashion conscious. Grandma would talk about them a lot and with such love. Flo died aged 40 when Betty was 18. James did marry again when he was around 60 more companionship than anything I think. She was a similar age and had never married. Looked after her mother until she died. But he never really got over Flo. Great Grandma had a brother but he died aged two from pneumonia - something she never got over, as you wouldn't.

There's a few stories about Jack Hornigold, the handsome man pictured below, and in the wedding photo - my Granddad looked up to him I think. He married Edie, my Granddad's sister. He looked after my (younger) Granddad during World War Two. There's a story about him and Fred in a brothel or some such in some country, and Jack picks up a silk robe and sends it back to his wife, warning Fred not to tell her where it was from, and Edie would never be wiser.

This is my Great, Great grandfather with Edie, many years later, and at this stage Jack is dead. His relatives live still in Yorkshire, but we've lost contact, and I don't know where they are. I'm desperate to find them, because these photos are pretty much all we have. In those days, you just didn't travel to the other side of the world with piles of photographs and memorobilia - a handful of photos might be all you have. Couple that with an idiot uncle who married a woman who he separated from and went back to England, stealing many medals and other family heirlooms, and you don't have much really. But I'm convinced that there are photographs somewhere - I just have to find them.

Here's my lovely Granddad. He was always pleased I married an Englishman, though sadly he never got to meet him. Funny - a little boy can so much look like the old man he become. I do miss my Granddad. There's many stories there.

And the photograph below? That's my beautiful mother.

And many years later, here I am, atop Glastonbury Tor. No wonder I feel the ghosts around me. It's the land of my ancestors, this country, this small island.