In an effort to lose weight I decided to make a start today. I had a haircut! Early today I limped round to the Market Square and entered the Barbershop. Careful praying before leaving was required, Tuesday is 'Old Men's Reduced Price Day,' and therefore I wished to be first! I entered a quiet shop. two chairs filled, and almost finished, an aged woman looked through aged magazines as she awaited her aged man, the quiet chatter continued as I slid into the seat and waited.
Shortly afterwards the far chair emptied, I was motioned forward, telling the woman, who done me last time, to finish the coffee she had been trying to scoop down. She refused as by now it was cold anyway, indicating non stop work since opening.
The chat was amiable, the hair removed in similar fashion to shearing sheep. The machine bussed, the hair flew, large dollops falling to the ground as she spoke. Eventually the job was complete, I felt a stone lighter, I saw my ears once again, and at my feet was sufficient wool to knit a pullover.
I paid my £10, plus £3 more as a tip for more coffee, and almost skipped out the door past the five men now awaiting removal of the grey stuff. I was happy, and the only dull note was Easter, when asked I mentioned I did nothing but attend church and the response was, er, hesitant. A good shop however, but interesting. Two women on today, clipping as hard as they can, though with many of the old boys awaiting there is plenty of room in the middle of the grey hair!
Back home I considered the jobs awaiting.
I ignored them.
So, back to ancient history.
This American lass wants info on the family line. I have lost much of it and must scramble through what is left and what I have improved upon. I am amazed at what I have recovered, and amazed at how hard all this is now. Once it was fun, now it is difficult. Especially as I am not back into the 1700s and unsure if these are the correct men. Ho hum.
My father was born in Edinburgh, his father just across the border near Berwick. The family were farmers, tenant farmers I assume, as they kept moving around. It was probably the agricultural/economic downturn that drove my great grandfather into Berwick. Here he ran a pub, 'The Black Swan' opposite the market place. He also farmed 40 acres nearby. This makes sense, his girls mostly ran the pub, one was deaf and dumb but worked there for many years, he could manage the small acreage, he had 175 acres before this, and my grandfather worked there also for a while as far as I can tell.
Great grandfathers father also farmed, back in the 1700s. How hard was this work? His father also farmed, but it is dubious which man was his father, not because of 'hank-pankie' but the line offers one or two suggestions. A lot of the lines include the name 'Robert.' Father to son we see 'Robert,' and this name is found on all possible lines. I am hoping this line goes back to the one called 'James!'
Now I am worn out by my mental efforts, it does not take much, and I seek rest and repose. I may dream, as some can, of travel to far away places once visited, though the Scottish borders are not as warm as middle eastern places some have trudged about on. I am lucky I can still make Tesco!
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