Terry's become a Genealogist, almost overnight. Well, since last Monday. It all began with an innocent friendship request on his new Facebook page on Sunday. "I din't know 'em" he said, proudly. I was just wondering why he was telling me this; surely the main thing about Facebook is getting Friendship requests from people you don't actually know? I began to say as much, but he shooed aside my point. "I DIN'T KNOW 'EM" he repeated louder, still smiling, as though talking to someone who'd spectacularly missed the point, and was a bit thick anyway to boot.
Turns out the cause of this excitement was that the person in question was his niece, Jo. "Aint seen 'er since she was ten, now 'ere she is, a woman of twenty-eight with an 'usband and two kids, living in Bexleyheath!". He showed me his mobile with her message on it. It read "Hi uncle Terry. long tim nosee. Your a great uncle btw!". "There" said Tel, with what looked suspiciously like damp eyes. "Aint seen 'er for fifteen-odd years and I'm still 'er favourite uncle!". I didn't point out that the 'great uncle' bit probably referred more to family fact than any emotional favouritism on her part. He wouldn't have believed me.
So he sent Jo several messages back, all gushing and she sent him some questions about their family, stuff she could tell her kids. And this led Tel, on Tuesday last week, to start writing down his family tree, on a chap notepad he'd 'found' in the shop, with a biro.
This is the condensed version of what he told me on Wednesday morning. 'Cos I don't want to bore you. But the condensed version is full of gems, and I report Terry's speech as closely as I can remember:
"Me dad was born in 1931 and me mum in 1934. They met as his work's Christmas do in 1952. He always told us kids he'd had a bad pint, well, anyway, he'd drunk seven pints of best and three whisky macs, and had to sit the slow dances out after being sick on his shoes in the bogs. Me mum came to see if he was alright; she was there with her friend, Peg, who worked for the same firm. She was like that, me mum. When my sister Pammie gave birth to my nephew in her bed at home in the seventies, all the menfolk in the 'ouse took one look at the bedclothes and decided they'd be better employed making the tea downstairs. Not me mum. She was up there with the midwife, 'olding the towels and a bottle of Jeyes in a bucket.
Anyway, they courted for about a year and then got married. I've still got the wedding photos at home. Her mum, me gran, wore a hat that looked like a duck's arse when it bobs. No-one's smiling except me mum and dad. 'Er family looked down on my dad and 'is lot. Always thought they were better. So they 'ad me sister Pam in 1954. Me dad always liked to say she was conceived on Coronation night in '53. He liked the royals, did my dad. Fancied the Queen. Probably thinkin' of 'er when he did it.
Me brother Dean was born in 1957. Me dad had been in hospital with pleurisy in 1956, but he obviously got better. Or....nah. Me mum weren't the type to 'ave affairs anyway and Dean looks just like me dad, more so than me...(looks worried momentarily). I came along in 1962. I was the baby (grins). Or the mistake. Me dad was running his father's shop in Hainault by then. Used to have to commute by bus all the way from our house in Plaistow. 'E was making a fortune; me granddad died in 1959 and he 'ad at least four grocers shops in the area. Gave me dad a deposit on the 'ouse in cash when they married. Dad said e'd never held so much dosh in one go",
He'd made a start on his maternal grandparents ("she was a nasty old cow. They moved to Cheshunt after the war, lived in a big old house that smelt of must. I remember 'er teaching me table manners when I was a little'un. Used a fly swat when I put me elbows on the table. Me granddad I loved, 'e was a lovely old boy. Took me fishin' in the River Lea. Always had a bag of humbugs in his cardie pocket. Liked a pint. Took me in the boozer when I was nine and bought me a half; no-one raised an eyebrow. She wanted me to go ter them elercooshun lessons, teach me to speak like a gent. She 'ated kids").
I left him making a start on his dad's parents, and by Thursday, he'd signed up to a genealogy site and spent £35 on retrieving records. He was still waiting on some. And that's where we are at the moment. It's become a passion. He's even started resenting the fact that he'll probably have to drop it for his holiday in Malaga with his brother-in-law's family next Friday. "Internet'll be expensive over there" he said, grumbling. "Besides, I'll be too busy gettin' a tan and workin' on me beer belly" he added, patting his stomach under his M&S sweatshirt. He's momentarily lost interest in the footy, and we did a rushed (and losing) three lines of results for today on Friday morning, when even the Sun crossword failed to make an appearance.
He's still pessimistic about Town, despite the good result last Saturday and the cup win at Luton. "Bloody Luton, yer should be doin' them anyway" he said, dismissing my joy at just being in the bowl for the massive cock-up draw Sky did on Thursday. He thought we'd lose at Barnsley. He'll be pig-sick tomorrow. The Barnsley result was the only one that let us down in a line of six correct.
A final aside. He's going to London on Wednesday next week, ostensibly to collect Mrs Tel's re-thinned engagement ring from Hatton Gardens so she can wear it again. "On the train" he smiled, as if I'd thought he'd got a magic carpet rolled up out the back. He's messaged Jo and she's agreed to meet him in Bexleyheath, kids permitting, for a drink and a catch-up. He's genuinely excited about this, more so than I've ever seen him before, and it'd take a hard heart to deny him it. He's even taking the notebook. He's worried he won't get the rest of it done in time so he was working on it today. I'm sure he'll tell me the results when I go for me papers and fags in the morning. |  |
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