“Alright, the registers are kept through here.”
Tampion led the way through a doorway behind the altar and Seymour found himself in a room of about 20 feet square. The temperature was noticeably lower in there, the only daylight came in through a small window near the top of one of the walls, which were built of light coloured stone. Tampion switched on the neon lighting and led the way to a bench top which had some drawers underneath, pulled one out and seized hold of a register, which he placed on the top surface.
“Now, let’s see what we can find.”
Tampion began from the back end and grunted to himself.
“It seems that this register ended about 1970, let’s have a look at the start.”
He turned all the pages over and perused the first entry, then shook his head.
“Nothing in this one, not that far back - 1924 did you say?” Seymour consulted his notebook and nodded.
“We’ll try the next book, but that’s the only other one here.” said Tampion, and replaced the first register and then pulled out another that looked a little more dog eared.
He opened the front of the register and shook his head.
“Sorry,” he said. “This doesn’t start until 1936.”
“Where’s the one before that?” Seymour was a little terse as disappointment flooded his system. He had been anticipating it would be just a case of finding the local address, making a few enquiries and then heading back towards London and Rod Fillery, triumphantly waving the information aloft.
“They would be at the County Record Office,” said Tampion. “That’s where this earlier register should be.”
“Why are they sent there?”
“For safe keeping,” answered Tampion. “It’s to guard against the risks of fire and water damage. We have had cases of registers being stolen by thieves from churches, amongst other things, and then later discovered vandalised. One church in Middlesex had its register stolen by some idiots and was thrown into the Thames, rendering it utterly useless for any kind of research.”
“Why would people steal registers?”
“Why indeed?” Tampion sighed. “That’s what happens these days, they’ll steal whatever happens to be at hand, then when they find out it’s of no monetary value they just vandalise it or destroy it. It was ever thus, I’m afraid!”
“So where are the County Record Offices?”
“In Buckingham,” said Tampion. “There should be no problem asking permission to examine it, but you may have to make a prior appointment.”
“Alright, I’d best do that then,” said Seymour. “Thanks for your assistance.”
“Thank you for yours,” Tampion smiled. “I’ve been remiss and hadn’t realised that this older register was still here, I’ll have to make arrangements for it to go to the Record Office. They’ve been remiss too, they should have sent for it.”
“Would all of these records be irretrievably lost if thieves stole the register?”
Tampion shook his head.
“Not necessarily. Most information is duplicated. That is to say, with the modern registers these days when an event takes place, it is all sent to the Government Registry. This has been so since 1837, when Somerset House accepted all records of births, deaths and marriages. They still do, ceremonies such as marriages are conducted here and the copies are sent to Somerset House …or nowadays it’s St Catherine’s House, the records have now been moved there. With baptisms and funerals, the information has already been registered to the government authority by the medical authorities, maternity hospitals and doctors who sign the death certificates.”
“So my next step is the County Record Office?”
“Depends what you want, don’t you have the birth certificate already?”
“I want the address where they lived.” said Seymour.
“Ah, I see. It’s possible the original baptismal entry may contain that information, or it may not. It may just give the name of the village here, or a nearby one, or they may have used another church - sometimes people tend to fall out with the local vicar.”
“So, for the present, I’m stuck.”
“Not necessarily, have you tried the local pub?”
“The pub?”
“The usual fount of information,” Tampion grinned. “You may find someone at the watering hole who still remembers them - though it may cost you!”
“A good thought,” Seymour held out his hand and Tampion shook it. “I could do with a pint.”
Seymour entered the Harrow public house, looked around him and then headed for the bar. The landlord raised his hand in greeting.
“Morning, sir, what can I get for you?”
“Pint . . bitter,” replied Seymour and waited while it was poured.
“Stranger in these parts?”
“Yes, I’m looking for some old family members,” rejoined Seymour, continuing the tack he had commenced with the local churchman. “I’ve been conducting some family research and this village came up, together with Sedrup…!” he added, having already noticed the name on signposts pointing in a north westerly direction.
“Family eh?” the landlord placed the pint pot on the bar. “What families were you chasing up?”
“Accrington, and Havering,” answered Seymour, extracting his note book from his pocket and flicking over the pages. “Long time since my family members were here though, last heard of in the 1920s.”
“Hmmm!” the landlord pursed his lips. “Long before my time, I’ve only been here since 1990, I came from Aylesbury originally so I can’t assist you. There may be some who can, old Josh Wilkins has been living here all his life, as has Sam Cuddeston. They still come in here some nights; maybe they can help you. They usually come in on Saturday nights, all the local dart and domino players come in then. I reckon they would have been living here then, they were born just after First World War.”
“What about the others,” Seymour indicated the few customers who were in the saloon.
“Nah!” the landlord shook his head. “Some of these are strangers, just passing through like you are. I know the others, they’ve been here a few years, maybe a few decades, but nothing like the 1920’s. I’d say Josh Wilkins and Sam Cuddeston are your best bet for anyone that far back.”
“Saturday nights, you say?”
“Never miss.”
“OK. Thanks for your help.”
Chapter 5
“So
