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My family and other freaks
Jan. 25th, 2006 03:30 pmThis is absolutely fascinating. I’ve long suspected that I must really be Scottish what with my love of drinking and veggie haggis pale skin and reddish hair, plus when I’ve been to Scotland people don’t start spelling my surname with the stupid ‘ph’. The west coast of Scotland features a town called Stevenson and the Stevenson brothers founded the town of Oban.
My paternal great-grandfather moved to Blackpool from further up the country to find work (and found it building the Blackpool Tower. He later became Mayor of Blackpool, but that’s another pulling-yersen-up-by-your-bootstraps story), so it makes sense that his ancestors might have moved down from Western Scotland. On t’other hand, my grandma, maiden name Westhead probably had her ancestors living in Blackpool or Lancs for as far back as anyone could remember. Ironically enough, although I claim my Yorkshire heritage quite strongly and my maternal grandfather was Leeds through and through, the Farrers seem to have originated from the wrong side of the Pennines also. He too pulled hissen up by his bootstraps, moving from slum-dweller to small business owner – he and my grandma (whose name seems to have been Yorkshire or Scottish???) ran a grocery shop-cum-off licence in Poole-in-Wharfdale, just after rationing ended and they made a bomb; holidaying in Italy and the US and buying a nice house in a posh bit of Leeds, before losing a lot of cash in the inflated 70s. They voted Tory. Before that, my granddad was an (illegal) bookie at Wetherby races and a stand-up comic. My grandma was the daughter of a strict Methodist and I guess she must have found liberation in meeting this Jack-the-lad character. She was a very neat, sophisticated, slim woman who, in the photos I’ve seen of her from the 50s, looked like a paler version of Maria Callas. I have two of her ballgowns (grandma's, not Maria's), long since outgrown, that I can’t bear to get rid of.
My paternal grandparents were much more cautious people, quieter, fond of a small, simple life. The furthest my grandma ever went was Jersey. They went dancing at Blackpool Tower. They were Labour-voters and my granddad was an atheist and long-standing member of CND. They drank a lot of tea and very little alcohol. Half of my grandad Farrer's family were boozehounds, according to my mother.
Right, I'm off to get me bagpipes and me dram o' whisky. Actually, the suffix -son came from the Vikings:- no wonder Fosca are so popular in Sweden ;-).
My paternal great-grandfather moved to Blackpool from further up the country to find work (and found it building the Blackpool Tower. He later became Mayor of Blackpool, but that’s another pulling-yersen-up-by-your-bootstraps story), so it makes sense that his ancestors might have moved down from Western Scotland. On t’other hand, my grandma, maiden name Westhead probably had her ancestors living in Blackpool or Lancs for as far back as anyone could remember. Ironically enough, although I claim my Yorkshire heritage quite strongly and my maternal grandfather was Leeds through and through, the Farrers seem to have originated from the wrong side of the Pennines also. He too pulled hissen up by his bootstraps, moving from slum-dweller to small business owner – he and my grandma (whose name seems to have been Yorkshire or Scottish???) ran a grocery shop-cum-off licence in Poole-in-Wharfdale, just after rationing ended and they made a bomb; holidaying in Italy and the US and buying a nice house in a posh bit of Leeds, before losing a lot of cash in the inflated 70s. They voted Tory. Before that, my granddad was an (illegal) bookie at Wetherby races and a stand-up comic. My grandma was the daughter of a strict Methodist and I guess she must have found liberation in meeting this Jack-the-lad character. She was a very neat, sophisticated, slim woman who, in the photos I’ve seen of her from the 50s, looked like a paler version of Maria Callas. I have two of her ballgowns (grandma's, not Maria's), long since outgrown, that I can’t bear to get rid of.
My paternal grandparents were much more cautious people, quieter, fond of a small, simple life. The furthest my grandma ever went was Jersey. They went dancing at Blackpool Tower. They were Labour-voters and my granddad was an atheist and long-standing member of CND. They drank a lot of tea and very little alcohol. Half of my grandad Farrer's family were boozehounds, according to my mother.
Right, I'm off to get me bagpipes and me dram o' whisky. Actually, the suffix -son came from the Vikings:- no wonder Fosca are so popular in Sweden ;-).
