The Christmas of 2006 was particularly quiet. We were awaiting the birth of our second son who, as has always been since, was in no hurry and obviously quite comfortable where he was (he didn’t actually make an appearance until the second week of January in the end).
Over a glass of wine or two on Christmas Day, my dad and I explored the family’s history – for quite practical reasons. Some 18 months before, our eldest was born with the hereditary life limiting illness cystic fibrosis, and we were discussing the wider family, scattered all over the world, and if there was anyone who we hadn’t contacted, we should let them know. At that stage, the assumption was I had inherited the CF gene (there are over 1,800 mutations) from dad as his cousin’s son had tested and found to be a carrier.
Both my wife and I are carriers as it turns out – about 1 in 200 are in this country, most of whom will never know. There is a 1 in 4 chance with each conception that the baby will be born with CF. Our eldest lucked out. His brother isn’t even a carrier.
Aided with a “back of a fag packet” family tree, and a quite house, I logged on to one of the ancestry websites and started plotting the family tree.
My immediate family isn’t large. And there aren’t many still alive. My mother’s roots are in the East End of London, my dad was born in Glasgow – not the stuff of a BBC program.
But what I do know is that the lifestyle I enjoy is a far cry from my ancestors. And for that I have my parents to thank. Dad’s formative years were spent in Rainworth, a pit village just outside Mansfield. My grandfather was coming to the end of his playing career (football had taken him from his Scottish roots to London – Chelsea and Brentford- and back into the Midlands via Norwich). A grammar school scholarship kept him in education and out of mining – there was no other option.
His drive and determination took him to be “something in the City”. And to make sure me and my brother had the start in life he didn’t have. And with Mum at his side, they made for a formidable couple. Both never forgot where they came from.
Everyone’s family is different – not all are full of happy memories. But for me to understand where I come from is important. Its shaped me, continues to shape me – and I hear myself repeating to my sons what my father said to me – and I swore I never would!
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