Moving on

We're into July 2010 now and I'm looking forward to attending the Tearle "reunion" in two weeks time. It's going to be strange and wonderful at the same time, meeting up with people I've never met before, but who all have a commonality through their blood-line!

Apart from this, I haven't been idle, I've been busy trying to piece together what happened to grandads brother and sister, George and Dorothy after they were orphaned back to England back in 1897.

While grandad Harry came to Market Harborough to live with his uncle Joseph, George and Dorothy both finished up with another uncle, Edward, who was a schoolmaster and in 1901 they were recorded as being in a little village near Macclesfield called Wildboarclough. A clough is another name for a valley, wild and boar probably coming from the fact that the area was widely used for hunting and, with a day off on Tuesday last, I decided to "pop" up there and take a look-see.

It was a good two-hour trek from Market Harborough but was well, well worth it. As I approached, the sat-nav piped up stating I was arriving at my destination. What a destination, there was a turning off the Buxton to Macclesfield road which took me down through a tunnel of trees and rhododendrons, the shrubs were in full bloom and with the sun streaming down through the tall trees made for a lovely welcome.

I had every intention of wandering around for an hour or so then moving on to Macclesfield just to see if there were any clues in the churchyards there. I couldn't, this tiny little village captured my heart. I can understand why Edward Essex chose to stay a while. It is situated on the side of the valley, everywhere there are trees and the gorgeous rhododendron bushes, and I mean everywhere.

There was a young woman walking a dog along by the churchyard wall as I was wandering through the gravestones. I managed to catch her attention and enquired as to whether there was a schoolhouse. She was French oddly ehough, but appeared to know what I was talking about and pointed me in the direction of a row of cottages and said she had been told one of them used to be the schoolhouse.

This was one of two rows of stone cottages, the other being along by the road through the valley floor.

I just wandered around and around, passing the same places over and over again, it was so idyllic, so peaceful, so pretty and so relaxing. I sat on a bench down by the babbling brook, and that was it! I just sat, no need to think, it was possible to just lose myself in this almost enchanted place.

After a while I made my way back to the church as I'd spotted a notice on the board by the old red phone box saying there were little pamphlets on sale in there. I really didn't expect the church to be open, but I was pleasantly mistaken as it was.

More surprises in store inside - a plaque on the wall to the local soldiers of the great war had three members of the Essex family, including great uncle George. He hadn't perished in the war, but appeared on the roll of men who served. There was also a list of church wardens and his uncle Edward appeared on this, serving between 1911 and 1916.

I could go on and on, the time flew by, and before long I found I'd been there over four hours, just bathing in the enjoyment of being in this tiny little place. With a heavy heart I climbed back into my car and drove back up the steep incline and out of this other world.
A heavy heart, but also a new resolve, determined to find out what happened to Pop's brother and sister.