As an amateur family historian of over 35 years, my tree has extended far and wide but when putting them into context, I will stop at nothing. Walking the footpaths they trod, visiting churches where they were baptised, married or buried, looking for their former dwellings, being equally disappointed when not finding their houses and elated when they are still extant in whatever guise.
I consider myself lucky inasmuch as my husband, although not the slightest bit interested in my hobby, will indulge me holiday visits to the various record offices or history centres I need to research in, provided he can visit a steam railway – and, believe me, there are many located quite neatly nearby. For as much