Bored or Board

 My inventory transcription is all about a board today. Are you bored with my transcription stories? Take heart at the warm hearth, for they are almost done. Just a few more tough words to (hopefully) figure out.

I was stuck on a board - nayled down, you might say. I'd read about the board in several places and it was stuck in my head. The table that our colonial ancestors sat at to dine was often called a board, for that's what it was, a long narrowish board. Unattached were two trestles, on which you placed the board, the board cloath, the napkins, perhaps some spoons, the meal trough or the trenchers and the common cup. When the board was not needed, you removed it from the trestles and placed it against the wall. You sat on the form (a long bench), or stools.

I had a phrase for which I couldn't figure out the middle word, or explain what it had to do with the first word. In context, it went like this:

2 yds serge at 5 sh stockings 3sh 108 ti steele at 16d  lether and ? boards 50sh.

Translated: 2 yards of serge (fabric) at 5 shillings; stockings, 3 shillings, 108 pounds of steele at 16 denarii (pence), and leather and ? boards 50 shillings. The total value of those items was ten pounds and seven shillings.

I tried every combination of letters I could think of for that middle word, which looked to me like balland or colland. This is a short post, but it was not a short search. I just finished reading a book written in the 1800s about furnishings in colonial homes. It was an excellent read for my purpose, and I have a better idea of what chests and tables and chairs looked like. They were much more ornate than I thought. But there was no word that could help me with my mystery word. The other thing was, most of the objects belonged in the home of a wealthier family, like the governor.

I  wondered. I pondered. I even thunk. In so doing, I remembered that in my ancestor's will, he had a great table. Why would he need a board if he had a great table? What is a great table? I checked, and in the inventory there was a table and a form. So, I am not quite sure if the table had legs attached to it or if it was a board; I will check into that. But, I wondered, why would he need a board if he had a table and a bench?

I had written "bellows?" under the word earlier, but dismissed it. I returned to bellows, and googled the word for more detail than the dictionary gave me. I looked at several sites. 

(Reminder here: look for the lock button or http: in the URL. My googling keeps my anti-virus hopping.)

Think, Peggy, think. Was it really "leather and"? Yes, I was sure of it. "Leather and bellows boards." It couldn't be anything else. 

The phrase follows lots of fabric, 5 pewter spoons, steele; it precedes more fabric, chissols, gouge, and drawing knives. I know that Francis was a blacksmith; I assume Ann used the fabric. 

What do you need to make bellows? Wood and leather and the necessary tools. Leather and bellows' wood. An apostrophe after the "s" in "bellows," a plural noun, tells me that in one of his chests full of fabric, perhaps he had the makings of a pair of bellows. Bellows for his hearth or his forge, I do not know. Perhaps enough for both - and maybe enough to sell a few; 50 shillings is a lot of wampum. 

Why it wasn't written 2 pounds and 10 shillings I don't know, but it works out in the equation. 

I do hope you weren't bored with this bellows' board story. 

Feelings for Francis

Today, I am thinking out loud, actually, virtually. I wonder if other genealogists think this way. We all have our projects and our own way of working. Do you get mentally involved with the people you focus on?

I am a genealogist. In my online family tree, I have thousands of names. Only a few are direct ancestors; the rest are collateral lines - aunts and uncles and cousins to some degree; greats and grands . I can't possibly develop feelings for all of them. 

Do I judge them? I try very hard not to; and even harder not to write about any judgemental feelings that crop into my head. Sometimes it's impossible, but mostly, I try, in my writing, to stick to the facts. After all, I wasn't there. 

Do I get emotionally involved? You betcha! It's not like my relationship with my four grandparents who all lived to a ripe old age. After all, I sat on their laps, ate at their tables, played with my cousins in their yards. I went to their funerals. I visit their burial grounds and remember. I chat about them with my Mum, my siblings, and my cousins. Those feelings are real, and generally happy, thankfully.

So, how do I describe my relationship with my ancestor who died in 1674 or 1675? Do I love him? Like him? I think it is different with each ancestor. I know absolutely nothing about Francis Holmes's wife, and I call her Mother Holmes just so she has a name, albeit generic. I don't feel for her like I do him. I am sad that I know nothing about her, but it's a fleeting sadness. It comes only when I'm studying Francis and his four children and she,whoever she was, crops us as wife and mother. Francis is real to me. I think I love him. 

Why?

I do not have the answer to that question. I seek the answer. I write this because the answer may come to me as a result of my pondering.

What do I know about Francis Holmes?

He was born circa 1600 in England, probably in Yorkshire. No firm sources, but likely true.

First mention I have found of him is in the Stamford, CT, town records, 1648. He was the night watchman on duty, and a drunken neighbour, Robert Penoyer, beat him in the face. Bloodied him. This was witnessed by Francis Bell.

He had four children: I've researched them but haven't written too much about them yet. They are in queue.

He was the village blacksmith; perhaps the only one for some time.

He served as a watchman and a fence viewer. Town responsibilities changed; I think, annually.

He was charged and fined once for intoxication. Puritans drank alcoholic beverages; the crime was drinking to excess and public intoxication.

He had a servant named Cornelius Hunt; he left him some shillings in his will.

I have transcribed his will and probate and I'm working on his inventory. By comparing his inventory to those of others in the town, I believe he'd be what we'd call middle class. Some had a lesser value than his; some, higher. I know all the items in his house except his wife's clothing.

I know from his will that he considered what belonged to his wife - her clothing and her inheritance from her late husband - as his own.

The Holmes name was respected in the town.

That's it. So why do I love him? Was he pleasant? funny? warm and fuzzy? unpleasant? grumpy? 

I don't know. Perhaps, had I known him, I wouldn't have liked him. Since I don't know, I believe I choose to love him. If I knew he was nasty or grumpy, I'd still have an emotional tie, perhaps of dislike, to him.

Here's some thoughts that come to mind.

I believe in the science of DNA. I believe I am knit together with strands of the DNA of my ancestors. Each cell contains more or less of each of them. Francis is a part of my being - likeable or not.

I have spent many hours, especially this past year, researching his life and that of his children. Although what I know isn't personal like sitting on his lap as a child or watching him at the forge, I still know facts about him. 

I have been to a blacksmith's shop at Kings Landing and watched a blacksmith at work.

It's in my nature to like people until and unless they rub me the wrong way.

Is that it? Is that enough? I want to know.

The list above - what I know about Francis Holmes, will form the basis for my writing about him during Lynn Palermo's February Family History Writing workshop. I've received my orders. This is part of my preparation to sit down and write for 28 days. My intent is to finish my rough draft, using the above list. I need to refer to and write down each mention of Francis in the town records and to finish his inventory by the end of January, and have it beside me so I don't spend time in research. What I don't know, I'll look for in March. The finished story will be part of my family history project.

I took the photo at Kings Landing in 2011.

Cookies

Grandma made cookies in December after a long hiatus, and even though it had been a long time, I still remembered how to make them, and they were good. Some are gone, and some are sitting in my freezer waiting for my family to arrive in a couple of weeks for a belated Christmas. The bedroom still contains a bunch of clutter as well, new to WTS clothes from the thrift stores and Christmas gifts for all of them. But, I am sorely tempted when I open the freezer door. 

I am working on the inventory of the probate of my immigrant ancestor, Francis Holmes. I've been at it for at least six months. As I learn this new language, I learn much about life 350 years ago or so. Part of the probate is the inventory, and that's the part I am at now. I don't think I will get all the words, but if I get one a day, I'm elated. I'm also trying to balance the mathematics of LSD. That L is actually a pound sign but I don't know how to insert it here. Some equations come easily; some still elude me. My wonder is - is it me, or was it them, who made the errors?

L is pound; S is shilling, and D is pence. Figure that one out. A clue - a NT Bible scholar will recognize the "d."

I'm also working on a glossary. I find Lexico Dictionary quite helpful and I have a list of websites to refer to after I exhaust the dictionaries. Wikipedia is a help. But first of all, I have to figure out what word the combination of letters refer to, as a,e,o and sometimes even u can look remarkably alike. The i is generally dotted, although a t before i is often not crossed.

Two things I've run into just this week, as I google hearth tools and farm implements. One is that there are bad guys inside my computer, just ready to pounce with a virus. Many thanks to Panda; I know I am stretching your power; I'm just keeping you on your toes. But watch for that little lock icon and http:. 

The other makes me laugh. It's the cookies that my googling is generating. All these tool companies are placing cookies in my Facebook feed. I hope they aren't too disappointed that I am not ordering their beetles and anchors and such like.

To Richard Law, clerk of Stamford for many years, including 1675, thank you for your dedication to your work. I've seen recipes for the ink you must make, and I know the paper was not easy to come by, and the quills didn't last long. As I type I don't know how many words a minute, and cut or copy and paste, I realize my work is much simpler than yours.