Day 222 - What's in a name?

We've come to Scotland to relax, catch up on writing, watch the sky change colours from the patio. We'll see how long we last before we have "itchy feet" and need to explore over the next hill. So today, was about that. We didn't venture too far from the cottage, other than to explore the local village area.

It's a good time to review my Scottish roots -- and the reasons I and my kids have curly hair!

My grandmother, Mary Ann Bowman HILL Smith Drysdale, (my Dad's mother) was born in Scotland in an area in the Lowlands called Wigtonshire. Today would have been her 110th birthday, which no longer seems like such an old age to live to. She lived into her 93rd year, so to me it seems like only a few years ago since she left us. It seems fitting that we're here on this particular occasion.

That's not to say she held any real affinity to the place. She left when she was about 5 years old, and from her accounts to me, never had an urge to visit. She also thought the Royal Family was a huge waste of time.

I've been slowly tracing my family history over the past few years, and have had a bit of time in the last couple of weeks to dig deeper into my Scottish roots. My Grandmother's maiden name was Hill. Her father was born in the village of Stoneykirk which lies on the bay of Luce near the Irish Channel. That's a fitting place, since his father was born in Ireland ... and thus abruptly ends my Scottish roots through that line.

However, my Grandmother bore the name Bowman as a middle name. It was her mother's maiden name. The tradition of using family surnames as middle names was quite common in Scotland, and in fact, until the 20th Century, women kept their maiden names upon marriage. The Scots also typically used a system of naming their children after relatives in a specific order. This makes geneology so much easier. Interestingly, both of my children have my surname as a middle name and I kept my name...so perhaps my Scottish roots run deeper than I thought!

I have been able to continue the search through my great-great-grandmother's line, getting back to two sets of sixth-great grandparents.

I see my grandmother in me and in my sister and my own children. She had a sarcastic wit and a sense of herself. We had a great relationship, and I spent hours at her place in Hamilton, particularly when I was at McMaster just down the road. We talked about everything, and shared an affinity for walking (she never drove), and eating a full breakfast at a local diner and Chinese food wherever we could get it. I miss her.

My daughter Rebecca was given my grandmother's name as a middle name. It was a conscious decision to honour her, but it is only through my recent ancestry searches that I have realized that the name Mary was passed down to the first-born daughter through the generations as far as I have found. I'm so glad I continued the tradition.

It's quite the heady thing to be in this place now that seems to drip with ghosts of the past and watch as your family tree unfolds into a mass of names, places, occupations, marriages, baptisms, and the like. The continuation of life unfolds around you, as steady as the sun rising again each day. It makes you understand how you are so much a part of the past and that you will continue to be part of the future.