LITMIR.BIZ

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departed for Buckinghamshire the next morning. He made good time, turned off the main road and headed for the small village mentioned on the birth certificate as being the address of the Accrington family. The parents were given as Arthur Accrington and Janet neé Havering, and Arthur’s occupation was given as a self employed carpenter. The village of Bishopstone was not far from Aylesbury and Seymour parked opposite the church. There was no specific address on the birth certificate, it just described the place of abode as Bishopstone.

      He was undecided as to his first port of call, then decided that the church was as good a place to start as any. He crossed the road, walked up to the gate, and then up the path to the church. He entered the main door, the building appeared to be deserted.

      “Good morning, isn’t it a beautiful day?”

      Seymour swung around; a man in shirtsleeves had emerged from a doorway behind him holding a brush in one hand and a dust pan in the other. He was a man of about 35, hair sleeked back and parted down the middle, and wearing horn rimmed glasses.

      “Oh …er…good morning,” he responded.

      “Can I assist you? I am the vicar here, although …” his eyes twinkled “…you couldn’t guess from my mode of dress right now. Have we met before?”

      “No.” Seymour shook his head. “I was enquiring about past parishioners to this church.”

      “Indeed, are they relatives of yours?”

      “Well…?” Seymour hesitated, then salved his conscience with the thought that in a sense they were, inasmuch as he represented Matthew Pelham, who in turn represented John Accrington. “Yes, it’s a family connection I am trying to chase up.”

      “Ah! You’re pursuing family history?”

      “I …well … yes.” again Seymour reconciled himself to the fact that family history was precisely what he was pursuing.

      “What is the name you are researching, maybe I know of the family.”

      “There are two families involved, Accrington and Havering.”

      “Accrington and Havering,” the other pursed his lips and inclined his head to one side. “Neither of them seem to ring a bell, when were they living here?”

      “We had lost track of them, they were certainly living here in 1924,” said Seymour, by this time feeling much more confident.

      “1924 indeed,” said the other. “That’s well before my time, I’ve only been here for three years. Accrington or Havering, no I can’t say I’ve heard of either of them. What were they, were they farming stock, tradesmen, professional people, carpenters, tilers, any idea?”

      “He was a self employed carpenter, presumably in these parts that means an agricultural self employed carpenter,” said Seymour.

      “We can have a look in the register, I’ve nothing else to do except cleaning up some of the mess from the weekend - you’ve no idea what the children throw down during the service, they think the church is just one big dustbin. I’m going to make an announcement about it next Sunday. I’ve been saddled with the job as my cleaner is in hospital. Will that assist you?”

      “Yes, I think it will, thank you very much.”

      “Good. My name is Tampion, James Tampion, who are you?”

      “Rex,” answered Seymour. “Rex Seymour.”

      “Oh, not Accrington? Are you directly related.?”

      “No, indirectly, a collateral line,” answered Seymour. He was quite pleased with that answer. His cousin Mark was investigating the Seymour family, convinced that they were descended from the powerful Seymour family living in the days of Henry VIII and Queen Elizabeth I. The last time they had been closeted together Mark had used the word ‘collateral’ to describe distant relatives such as cousins, second cousins and their descendants.

      “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

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