Genealogy Chat

Oh, How thoughtful. They are lovely poems and am going to print them out. When I was a little girl we used to visit my Grandmothers grave in Harthill, Cheshire. My father always used to show us a certain grave and I in turn showed it to my children it says, Remember me as you pass by, For as you are so once was I, As I am now so you will be, So prepare yourself to follow me.

I have printed out all these poems and will be taking them to the Family History Group that I help to run. I wonder if anyone has a poem that I read on a messageboard a while ago and I think it was called either the Genealogist poem or the Ancesters poem. It was like one of us talking to an ancester and talking about the problems we have searching for information. Christine

I just had to save these lovely poems. Here's another one that was posted on here quite a while ago...sort of describes me too!. Grandma and her Family Tree There's been a change in Grandma, we've noticed her of late, She's always reading history or jotting down some date. She's tracking back the family, we'll all have pedigrees. Oh, Grandma's got a hobby, she's climbing Family Trees. Poor Grandpa does the cooking and now, or so he states, That worst of all, he has to wash the cups and dinner plates. Grandma can't be bothered, she's busy as a bee Compiling genealogy - for the Family Tree. She has no time to baby-sit, the curtains are a fright, No buttons left on Granddad’s shirt, the flower bed's a sight. She's given up her club work, the serials on TV, The only thing she does nowadays is climb the Family Tree. She goes down to the courthouse and studies ancient lore, We know more about our forebears than we ever knew before. The books are old and dusty, they make poor Grandma sneeze, A minor irritation when you're climbing Family Trees. The mail is all for Grandma, it comes from near and far, Last week she got the proof she needs to join the DAR. A worthwhile avocation, to that we all agree, A monumental project, to climb the Family Tree. Now some folks came from Scotland and some from Galway Bay, Some were French as pastry, some German, all the way. Some went on west to stake their claim, some stayed near by the sea, Grandma hopes to find them all as she climbs the Family Tree. She wanders through the graveyard in search of date or name, The rich, the poor, the in-between, all sleeping there the same. She pauses now and then to rest, fanned by a gentle breeze That blows above the Fathers of all our Family Trees. There were pioneers and patriots mixed in our kith and kin Who blazed the paths of wilderness and fought through thick and thin. But none more staunch than Grandma, whose eyes light up with glee Each time she finds a missing branch for the Family Tree. Their skills were wide and varied, from carpenter to cook And one (Alas!) the record shows was hopelessly a crook. Blacksmith, weaver, farmer, judge, some tutored for a fee, Long lost in time, now all recorded on the Family Tree. To some it's just a hobby, to Grandma it's much more, She knows the joys and heartaches of those who went before. They loved, they lost, they laughed, they wept, and now for you and me They live again in spirit, around the Family Tree. At last she's nearly finished and we are each exposed. Life will be the same again, this we all supposed! Grandma will cook and sew, serve cookies with our tea. We'll all be fat, just as before that wretched Family Tree. Sad to relate, the Preacher called and visited for a spell, We talked about the Gospel, and other things as well, The heathen folk, the poor and then - 'twas fate, it had to be, Somehow the conversation turned to Grandma and the Family Tree. We tried to change the subject, we talked of everything But then in Grandma's voice we heard that old familiar ring. She told him all about the past and soon was plain to see The preacher, too, was nearly snared by Grandma and the Family Tree. He never knew his Grandpa, his mother's name was ... Clark? He and Grandma talked and talked, outside it grew quite dark. We'd hoped our fears were groundless, but just like some disease, Grandma's become an addict - she's hooked on Family Trees! Our souls were filled with sorrow, our hearts sank with dismay, Our ears could scarce believe the words we heard our Grandma say, 'It sure is a lucky thing that you have come to me, I know exactly how it's done, I'll climb your Family Tree Enjoy!

What a lovely poem Janet, thanks for sharing it. It really tugs at the old heartstrings. Carol

Thank you for sharing that lovely Poem, I have never heard it before, it is very moving and very true.I am only a new comer to Genes Reunited and find it very facinating, I will probably be up till all hours of the morning going through this Board. I have'nt had any luck yet with my Family search yet .Marion

lovely poem, when i go to see my granparents grave who i never knew i will place that on there grave, beautiful poem but made me little sad.

Some beautiful words here, thank you all for sharing. I am planning on copying these later to put in a FTM book. Laura x

They are all beautiful Thankyou Karen

Ancestors The special book upon the shelf was made with many hands. Our ancestors who posed back then all came from different lands. Their pictures were all tucked away and rarely did we see, The importance of these treasures is the start of you and me. The history of our families now here in black and white Preserved with special care and time each page is done just right. When time permits, we take it down and think of days long past. Our hopes, our dreams, our heritage all safe and made to last. Life is a scrapbook, torn and old In which our little lives are told, And when the twilight shadows fall this is the sweetest thing of all; To turn the pages of the years, remembering with happy tears The faithful love, the perfect friend... These things are treasured to the end.

The Old Scrapbook It speaks of times now long ago In a voice so soft and low, “Come, my friend, see what you can see, Come and take a look at me. My bright colors are faded and dim, But my spirit is bright within, Pictures of people in days gone by, Laughing and crying, we know not why, Cards and pamphlets, and programs old, What are the stories they have told? Wrapping paper, an old gift tag, Pieces of this, and bits of that, Little treasures that people have saved, Celebrations of special days, So many mem’ries my pages fill, They’re waiting now to give you a thrill, So come, my friend, come take a look, I am a very special old book, My binding is cracked, but my heart is whole, Looking at me is like finding gold.

Bumped for all who may not have seen this before.

Ann just read your poem and jusst want to thank you for it ... tis 5 years next Thursday since my son died and reading it it is how he would want me to be .... but god it is so hard xxx

Am in bits here trying to see the screen through tears. when i started researching did not realise how emotional i would feel. When i found out my grandad was born wrong side of the blanket as they say in a workhouse i cried all day. Hope my great gran knows what a lovely man he turned out to be. He died in 1949 and cannot find his grave strong possibility he was cremated my gran died in 1955 and she was cremated so i got no where to go to place flowers ... feel very sad xxxx

Thanks for that. I read this post some time ago, and printed off the poem. On Friday my husband and I went up to Lincolnshire to visit some family graves, and it came to mind and seems so appropriate. It was very emotional, seeing all those names inscribed on memorials - event though they are my husband's family, not mine. Somehow, they're not just names any more, but real people. It was particularly poignant to see three children from the same family buried together - a 14-year old and (presumably) twins who died 'in infancy'. What those poor parents must have gone through, to lose three children. It doesn't bear thinking about - but they just had to get on with life, I guess. Thanks again for the poem. It is very meaningful.

loved them all! joanne

oh! lovely poems. i have copied!!

Hi Just read the lovely poems on here and thought how appropriate they are. I often wonder what it would have been like to have known my ancestors beyond my grandparents. Would like to pass on my poem if you all don't mind. This is how I would like my son to remember me. You can shed tears that I have gone Or you can smile because I have lived. You can close your eyes and pray that I'll come back, Or you can open your eyes and see all that I have left. Your heart may be empty because you cant see me Or you can be full of the love we shared. You can remember me and only that I' ve gone Or you can cherish my memory and let it live on. You can cry and close your mind, be empty and turn your back, Or do what I want: smile, open your eyes, love and go on. Ann

nudge

lovely poems have saved them all. Ann

Thank you Janet and Fred, both poems are lovely and I have printed both off. Julia