Editing My Ancestors

By Sarah Dawson Rodgers

Ellen Rosemary Woolcote never could have guessed that buying a 200 year old bonnet in a charity shop in Kent, England, would change her life forever, and re-arrange her family tree. This is what happens in the historical fantasy, Editing My Ancestors, that will appeal to all age groups. Ellen tells of her adventures, often accompanied with her Wooly pet Lambie-Pie, in an easy conversational style, full of wit and candor.
I never knew what Id find in a charity shop. I spotted a dead looking thing stuck in the dusty corner of the bottom shelf. The elderly volunteer, with watery blue eyes that matched her blue hair, exclaimed I say there my dear, look at the prize youve found! I discovered the name Elizabeth Schooner neatly cross-stitched in the old bonnet, along with several auburn hairs.
I set out to discover who Elizabeth Schooner had been 200 years agoI start keeping a notebook of my findingsI wear the bonnet for inspiration as a make my notesI begin to notice gas lamps outside my hotel, that Id never noticed beforesounds of horses hooves on cobblestone , and three masted sailing ships outside my window, in the English Channel.
The hat seems to be transferring me back to 1805...I meet and fall in love with Daniel Woolcote. There is one problem, that only I know. He is my Great, Great Grandfather. If I should marry him, three generation of my family would never be born.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Apr 17, 2015
• ISBN: 9781503561984

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

ENGLAND

D ON’T YOU WONDER how two hundred, well-to-do passengers manage to trash a plane, by the time that they arrived at their destination? This seems especially true on trans-continental flights. The floor becomes slick with magazines, newspapers, blankets, pillows, and their plastic wrappers, candy wrappers, headphone wrappers and snack wrappers. That about wraps it up. I know the majority of these travelers are well-to-do because, after all they could afford the price of the plane ticket., not to mention their laptops and their I-things. You know, I-pads, I-pods, I-phones and I don’t know what else.

The flight from Atlanta had seemed endless, but finally we were descending through the clouds and I got my first glimpse of the green pastures of England. There were even little-bitty flocks of sheep. A wonderful feeling spread through me. It was almost like coming home. I’ve been here so often and after all I’m just a second generation American. The England genes are passed down from grandfather to granddaughter.

Trailing my rolling suitcase through customs and the rest of the Gatwick airport, I made my way to the London train. I would have to change trains at Victoria Station to catch one to Saxongate, Kent.

Well, here I am again, Ellen Rosemary Woolcote, still trailing my suitcase down a Kent High Street. My first stop is for a cream tea. For the uninformed, that is Tea served with scones and clotted cream and strawberry preserves and the next stop will be the charity shop. They are great to rummage around in. I just might find something I might fancy. Antique stores and iron mongers make good browsing too. I’m always looking for old bottles, tea pots, doll house furniture, or sheep trinkets. In other word, something small enough that it will fit in my luggage. The pickings are best at the charity shops.

The tea was wonderful, and now I’m going to sort through bits and pieces at the charity shop. You never know what you will find. I spotted a dead looking thing, pushed into the dusty corner of one of the lower shelves. It was greenish with a scraggly peacock feather and bunches of dusty lace ruffles and some stringy ribbons or ties that hang over the side of the shelf. I picked it up so I could hold it up to the light coming in the front window.

The elderly volunteer, with watery blue eyes that matched her blue hair, exclaimed, I say there my dear, look at the prize you have found! That came in when the removal company emptied Old Miss Roundtree’s cottage in Fordwich. You might know that her people were originally from Maidstone, but she was born in Saxongate. They were carpenters, sea men and bakers. Rumor has it that the family left the Anglican church and became dissenters, but I wouldn’t know about that since I’ve only lived here since 1936.

I held up the bonnet because that was what it really was. It must have been rather grand in it’s time. I figure it must be from about 1820 or 30. Not many things of cloth and such survive as long as this seems to have.

I’ve always been interested in what people wore two or three hundred years ago. There are a few painting at the Tate Gallery that show peasants working in the fields and others of the noble class in velvet and satin and furs. No where have I been able to find examples of the middle class attire. Now, I’ve found this wonderful hat. This little piece of history in the form of a chapeau. I don’t know why, but I really wasn’t leaving the shop without owning the hat. It cost me £3 50p.

I never could have guessed how this purchase was about to change my entire life!

CHAPTER 2

THE HAT

I T WAS DRIZZLING when I left the shop and I had to carry the hat carefully wrapped in tissue paper and clutched inside my London Fog. As I got closer to the sea front, the earlier drizzle turned into a downpour. I cleverly (I thought) ducked into one of those phone booths across from the waterfront park to wait for the rain to le t up.

While I waited, I unwrapped the bonnet to get a closer look at it. I could swear I found three strands of long auburn hair in the lining. The lining material was green, rust and gold striped, and in very small stitches Elizabeth Schooner was cross-stitched. Had there been an Elizabeth with reddish hair that had once owned this hat over 150 years ago? It was fun to conjecture about the hat’s first owner. I was creating all sorts of fantasies about the hat when I realized that the rain had stopped. I was able to escape my phone booth and make my way to the hotel where I was going to try to get a room for a couple of weeks.

The Promenade Hotel had once been a fine old Victorian house with a view of the North Sea. Could Elizabeth have ever visited this house when it was new? I think not. As old as this house is, it isn’t nearly as old as the hat.

In fact, I think that the bonnet was Too fancy to have ever been British. More likely it was made across the channel in Calais or Bordeaux or even Paris. Maybe a wealthy coal baron or a ship’s captain brought it back to his wife or a pampered daughter.

I was getting ready for bed at nearly mid night and on a whim, I decided to try on the hat and see how I might have looked if I had born a couple of centuries earlier. After all, I have the same color hair as I found in the hat’s lining, and it’s green color almost matches my eyes. Standing in front of the mirror, I adjusted the hat to my liking. With the ribbons tied in a large, wilted looking bow under my chin. I think it will look better with a smaller bow angled to one side. Mmm, that’s the way I would have worn it.

Suddenly, I was aware of the sound outside my open window or rather the lack of sound. It had gotten so quiet, I could hear the buoy’s bells out in the channel. It isn’t naturally silent here. Usually the teen-agers are raising cane in the park and the drunks are making their jovial way home from the pub. Throw in a motorcycle or two to round out the night time sounds. I almost think I hear horse’s hooves in the distance. Oh well, off with the hat and on with the nightgown.

You’re going to call me crazy, but here’s the deal as I see it. I picked up my charity shop purchase to take down to breakfast to show my hotel mates. While doing so, I glanced casually out the window, and I swear I saw a square-rigged sailing ship out in the bay and I caught a whiff of a farm smell. I laid down the hat and walked to the window to get a better view. There were only people setting up for a boot sale in the park and a few early-rising tourists. I guess my imagination is working overtime.

I only briefly mentioned to the people seated at my table about the hat. You need some subject to make small talk with as you wait for your eggs to be served. Someone suggested that I go the library and see if there is anything in their records about an Elizabeth Schooner. That’s a good idea. I like searching old records. I spent most of the morning at the library and didn’t come up with anything. Their records just don’t go back far enough. I’ll have to figure out where to go that will have older records. I’ve got it! The Canterbury Cathedral Archives! I’ll call the Archives and see if I can make an appointment tomorrow to search their church records of birth, marriage and death.

There are also wills and tax records. Oh, it will be such fun detective work. I want to find out when and where Elizabeth lived and who her parents were and did she have brothers and sisters or a husband. The more I think about it the more I’m sure Canterbury is the perfect place to search.

With that settled, it seems like the perfect time for tea and scones. Any time is a perfect time for tea and scones! Away I went to the tea shop. I struck up a conversation with Eleanor, the owner of the shop and the maker of the best scones I’ve ever eaten. Yea for clotted cream! Eleanor said I should talk to Liam Jackson who as been the postmaster for years and years in Saxongate He is about the oldest person in town. Actually, he isn’t