Sunday, 16 November 2008

40, Jersey Street, Brighton

Sunday, November 16th, 2008

I did a lot of family history research some years ago but I am resting now. I was driven by curiosity rather than a desire to prove that I was linked to Alfred the Great. Who frigging cares anyway, he's long dead and statistically all Brits could claim descent even if they only carry the odd gene, let alone a whole chromosone.

My ancestors were pretty much ordinary folk going about their daily business: I like that. There were a few rascals: I like that even more.

A lot of genealogists seem to be driven to add more and more names. Me, I wanted to feel them and touch them even though they are long gone. So I have been to some of the places where they lived and tried to imagine what it was like for them. Once, I went to Brighton, one of the sources of my mom's side of the family and I found this:


Nothing special is it? Just another tiny Victorian terraced house in the back streets of Brighton. It would be special if just one ancestor lived there but read on. I knocked on the door but no one was in, I would dearly liked to have looked inside.


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