Too Much Information . . . .

According to family lore our ancestor, John Malcolm Andrews came to Northern Ireland from Stirling, in Scotland early in the 1700s. He settled to the west of Belfast near Andersonstown and worked in the linen industry. Most of those Scottish immigrants were Presbyterian and they suffered the same discrimination as their Catholic neighbors because they were not members of the "established" Church of Ireland. In fact, many Ulster Presbyterians joined with Catholic Irish to form the United Irishmen and were leaders in the 1798 rebellion. That uprising, like so many Irish rebellions failed. Again, family gossip whispers that one almost forgotten ancestor was hanged as a rebel near Carrickfergus. The "respectable" side of the family stayed close to west Belfast and the linen industry. The 1911 Census of Ireland tells the story of the end of one branch the Andrews family line. This heir had no sons and the Andrews name ended when his six daughters married or died.

(Larger version: http://picasaweb.google.com/plummerspixels/PlummersPixels?authkey=Gv1sRgCO7Wpdygp6OvUA#5404859596594892370 )

On the evening of Sunday, April 2, 1911 Malcolm Andrews, his second wife Jane, and two of his unmarried daughters were at home in Braemar Street, Belfast. Georgina, his third unmarried daughter was visiting her married twin-sister Elizabeth Scott for the night. She is recorded on that family's census form. His other two married daughters Margaret Shanks and Mary Glencross are listed with their families under their married names. Those census forms tell more than who lived where that night almost 100 years ago. That census also records the jobs they held. John Malcolm Andrews' descendents were still tied to the linen industry in 1911. According to the form my grandmother Sarah was a linen weaver. Aunt Georgie was a damask weaver. Aunt Edie was a machinist (she was a "spoke stitcher"), and the majority of Aunt Mary's family also worked in the linen mills. That's not too surprising as almost ten percent of Belfast's population was engaged in the textile industry, people didn't venture too far from home and very, very few had the opportunity to advance from manual labor to a profession.

Those old census forms also show that some things don't change. Great grandfather Malcolm recorded his daughters' jobs simply as Weaver and Machinist. He also recorded that his wife was 62 years old. It took bureaucracy, in the form of Constable Robert Lynch to provide the additional information that Sarah was a linen weaver and Edith was a blouse machinist. And, I am sure that Constable Lynch received a frosty farewell from Great grandma Jane and a cold welcome thereafter when he changed her age from 62 to 65.

Brothers in Arms . . . usually a waste

I am writing this entry on the plane as it flies over Alaska on the way to Japan. I suspect that if I look out of the windows on the right side I might see Sarah Palin’s house and if I check the other side I might see Russia. Right now, I’m quietly marveling at the technology all around me. My laptop is plugged into a 120V outlet in the seat, an LCD screen in arm-rest offers a choice of over 300 movies or I can select my favorite tracks from over 200 CDs. The music selection is wonderful: everything from Elvis to Enya or Bach to Billy Holiday. Outside, it is -60 degrees Fahrenheit but I am cocooned in an aluminum tube hurtling towards the international dateline at 550 miles per hour listening to Simon and Garfunkel sing about the “Sounds of Silence”.

The music system allows passengers to select tunes from any number of CDs and play a personal “Jukebox” to wile away the hours. Among the gems I’ve included on my jukebox is “Brothers in Arms” by Dire Straits. I can’t listen to this tune without being grateful for the circumstances in my life. My parents were both in their late teens and early twenties when they served in the armed forces during WW II. I was born at the end of that war and came of age when the law requiring two years service in the forces had been abolished. The UK was not involved in Viet Nam so unlike some of my colleagues here, I was spared that conflict. Now, I am too old. My son registered for Selective Service when he became 18 but as the years pass and he advances I have strong hopes that he will be spared any involvement in armed conflict. I fervently pray that my grandson and granddaughter will also be spared. That’s her picture at the end of this paragraph. She is still too young to be embarrassed by a doting granddad or be teased by friends. I’m not too sure that applies to her “big” brother so we’ll omit his photo.)

I expect many people will think my feelings are selfish. Maybe they are, but they are also a combination of profound sorrow and deep anger. Sorrow for the wanton loss of youth and all the wasted potential those lives contained; anger at the people my age who keep failing to find alternative means of solving problems and so squander those youthful lives. My feelings are not restricted to the US. I mourn the loss of youth on all sides and my curses are democratically directed at all leaders. But the crux is we claim to have higher ideals than some other folks.

So, I also get angry each Sunday when, with so many other American citizens, I go to church to worship the “Prince of Peace”. We recall the way Jesus forgave His killers. We read and memorize verses proclaiming His teaching that love conquers all and somehow, we manage to rationalize that these words are not really intended to work in the real world between Monday and Saturday. Should I add naivety to my selfishness? I don’t have an answer to that but I am sure that we cannot just pick the bits of Jesus’ teachings we like and ask forgiveness when we deliberately ignore the “inconvenient” parts. The verse is “do onto others as you would have them do onto you”. That way will bring security for everyone’s grandkids. Unfortunately, too many seem to read it as “do onto others before they do onto you”. That is a guaranteed path to continued waste and sorrow.