A very special birthday present!

I celebrated a milestone birthday this year and got the best present ever from my long-suffering husband, another trip to the city which means so much to me - Santiago de Compostela. He's been with me on numerous trips over the past nineteen years but, having mobility problems as he awaits knee replacement surgery, he opted to stay at home this time. We have usually stayed in the city for a couple of nights either at the beginning or the end of a driving holiday. Over the years we've explored most of Galicia; Cantabria; the Picos de Europa; driven through Oviedo, Leon, Salamanca, Caceres, and down into Portugal. But on this trip I was going to be based entirely in Santiago for five nights. Initially intending to travel alone I was thrilled when my dear friend, Elizabeth, said she had always wanted to visit the city and would be more than happy to be my travelling companion. She is a seasoned traveller; I knew she would be happy to spend a couple of hours alone each morning while I did my research and, as an added bonus, she speaks Spanish!

We didn't have any luck finding two hotel rooms at short notice. One website stated that Santiago was 98% full, so we opted for a two-bedroomed apartment in a residential area about twenty minutes' walk from the Arquivo. I timed leaving the apartment so that I could stop for a coffee and pincho de tortilla before the office opened at 9.30am.

I have written about my connection to Santiago de Compostela in previous posts; it was my grandmother's birthplace and visits, however short, have always included time spent in the Arquivo Historico Diocesano, where I've solved some of the mysteries concerning my Spanish ancestors.

Over a number of years my contact at the archives has been Victor Camino. He is incredibly supportive, as are all the staff. I don't suppose they have many silver-haired elderly ladies from England researching their Galician roots! I think they appreciate my love of their city, of Galicia in general, and my sheer doggedness in returning time after time to uncover more pieces of the puzzle. Each time I visit Santiago I worry that it may be the last - this photo was taken on my visit in 2017, so this year's trip was a real bonus.

On my first day, I climbed the now familiar stone steps and, passing through two sets of incredibly heavy iron doors, gained access to the archive department. The original stone steps to the first floor have now been covered by a wooden staircase. There is even a lift - which I was using towards the end of my stay! A shiver of anticipation as I signed in and was allocated a desk in the research room. Would I discover anything new today?

With more time in the city than usual I was able to split my research into four, two-hour blocks. The search method in the arquivo has evolved over the years. Each volume is listed on the department's computers; baptisms, marriages and deaths in the various parishes covering certain spans of years - for example, if you want to look in the ledger for baptisms in the parish of Santa Maria del Camino for the year 1850, there will be a volume number which you enter on a slip of paper and one of the archivists will bring that particular volume to your desk. You are usually limited to three volumes at any one time. They are heavy, very fragile, often tied with tape, and their pages are stiff with age. I found it physically, mentally and emotionally impossible to sit and concentrate for more than two hours at a time.

Oh, the relief when you open a volume and find that the priest, writing hundreds of years ago, had a good, legible style and the ink stands out almost as clear today as it did when he originally took up his pen. And the sinking feeling when the priest's writing is barely readable, written in almost invisible ink! My limited Spanish is not much of a drawback at this stage of the research as the names are written in the margins of the ledger and you soon get used to translating the dates and the general gist of the document. I have mentioned in previous posts that baptism certificates in particular are a treasure trove of information, giving not only the name of the child but the exact time and place of birth, the names of both parents and both sets of grandparents, often with their occupations, and their parishes. This is invaluable in confirming that you have the correct ancestor before you order the certificate, especially since the spellings of family names are not always uniform; Vilarelle may be spelt Vilarello, Morana can become Moran, or Morano. It may have been that the relative registering the event wasn't totally literate. There are also many entries which make sad reading, where the baby's father is 'incognito' - or where the euphemism 'born on the pavement' is used.

It isn't necessary to visit the archives in person. Many family historians would find it difficult to travel from abroad, especially from the Latin American countries, to where many Galicians emigrated, but it is possible to fill in an application form online. If you know the parish and an approximate date, the archivists will search within a five-year period. Obviously, this is very time-consuming and you may have a long wait to receive a certificate. On this trip it took me eight hours to find four certificates. It's not just a question of finding the relevant document, typed copies then have to be prepared for the researcher - a task that must be a great strain on the eyesight.

In the past couple of years the advice of genealogist Daniel Smith Ramos has been invaluable in breaking down brick walls and solving mysteries on my family history journey. He has an excellent blog on https://the genealogycorner.wordpress.com, full of excellent advice for family history addicts. We initially made contact through twitter and despite the almost fifty-year disparity in our ages Daniel has become a good friend. We met up in person at the 'Who Do You Think You Are?' event in Birmingham in 2017 and since then have met twice in Santiago de Compostela and again in Birmingham this summer at:

where I also met up again with Sonia, another twitter friend whose detective work solved the mysteries in my Spanish grandfather's life.

But nothing quite compares to that feeling of excitement when you discover something for yourself; when your finger hovers over the margin of a page and a family name jumps out at you - when you feel like punching the air and shouting 'Yes!' You don't of course, silence has to be observed.

Before I flew home from Santiago I requested copies of four documents, at ten euros each, to be sent by post. Had I been staying in the city longer they would have been ready to pick up within a couple of days. The typewritten copies are much easier for me to translate and I'm thrilled that I now have the marriage certificate of my great-great-grandparents on my grandfather's side, which also gives the names of my 3xgreat-grandparents.

 

My trip this year wasn't just about more research. Not only did Elizabeth and I have plenty of time to immerse ourselves in the sights, sounds - and tastes - of my grandmother's birthplace, it was also a wonderful opportunity to meet up with dear friends. Anyone who has read Chasing Shadows will know that I met Nicola when she was spending her school holidays with her Galician father's family in a small village that by a strange coincidence has my grandmother's family name. Although Nicola was only fifteen at the time, we have kept in touch over the years. We were guests at her wedding to Antonio in Spain in 2007 and they are now the proud parents of two beautiful daughters. We have been welcomed into their home on many occasions and also spent time with Nicola's parents in Spain and in London. They now feel part of my extended Spanish family and I was thrilled to be able to introduce Elizabeth to them when we all met up in Santiago for Sunday lunch on our first full day in the city. It was also very appropriate that the restaurant was on the Rua San Pedro - the street where so many of my ancestors lived.

Late that afternoon, we were making our way back to our apartment when we came across an orchestra playing in one of the squares and stood immersed in the atmosphere and music.

 

On previous visits I've been disappointed to find the church of San Pedro Apostol closed and wondered if perhaps a shortage of priests meant it was no longer in use. On Monday afternoon we walked past the church and into the Calzada de San Pedro so that I could show Elizabeth the house where my great-grandfather had lived with his parents and siblings. Just as we paused outside the house, the door opened and an elderly woman came out onto the street. In all the times I'd stood outside that house this had never happened before. Had I been on my own I woudn't have trusted my basic Spanish enough to speak to her but it was surely fate that on this one occasion Elizabeth was with me. She explained why I was interested in the house and we learned that the woman's family had lived there for forty-seven years. I could hardly believe my luck when she also told us that the church would be open for mass the following evening.

Tuesday was a busy day. After my research session we took the train to Coruna. I don't know if it's true of the rest of Spain, but certainly in Galicia the Renfe and the railway stations are a shining example of rail travel at its best. No trip to Coruna, however short, is complete without a visit to the Torre de Hercules. On this occasion pouring rain somewhat spoilt the view from the base of the tower and, some nineteen years older than on my first visit, I didn't feel up to repeating the feat of climbing all those steps to the top. Despite the bad weather the view of the tower as we approached it up the long walkway was awe-inspiring.

When we returned to Santiago the rain had stopped and we walked from the station through one of the city's beautiful parks, exiting in the square right opposite my ancestors' church - and the door was open:

at last I would be able to go inside!

We slipped into a pew at the rear of the church. Despite my mother's nationality and religion, I was not brought up a Catholic, yet there was something in the atmosphere that made me very emotional. It may sound fanciful, but it was as though the physical presence of my forebears in that small space, over hundreds of years, the highs and lows of their lives, had somehow permeated the walls. I was imagining my grandmother's parents standing in front of the altar at 5.30pm on Christmas Eve almost a hundred and forty years ago as they exchanged their marriage vows. Gran was three years old and her mother was seven months pregnant with her second child. Why did it take them so long to decide to marry since they were both of age? That is what is so tantalising about genealogy, we can discover facts but in most cases motives elude us.

The priest seemed amiable and although I could only understand a few words of his sermon, I recognised that he was preaching love and tolerance. I was overcome with emotion and before the service was over I was trying to stifle my sobs. You have to be a very good friend not to be embarrassed in that situation and Elizabeth stood the test! As the service ended, she asked me if I'd like to speak to the priest and I dried my eyes and nodded. A couple of members of the congregation had stayed behind, observing us with good-natured curiosity as we waited for the priest to emerge from the vestry. Elizabeth spoke to him and I showed him the copy of my great-grandparents' marriage certificate. He was genuinely interested in my story, reading through the document carefully and taking time to show us around the church. He told us that it was just as it would have been all those years ago, except that the font where many of my grandmother's siblings were baptised had been moved to the front of the church from its original position at the rear.

As Elizabeth and I walked back to our apartment, after dinner and a couple of glasses of wine, I recalled some of the stories my mother had passed on to me in my childhood about my grandmother's life in Santiago. Crossing the square we could hear the sound of music coming from the colonnades opposite the cathedral. How could we not investigate? We were about to experience the music of Tuna de Derecho de Santiago de Compostela. A very lively hour followed, the music was foot-tappingly good, the crowd happy and friendly as we sang along - when we could - clapping and cheering. As we left, I bought their CD and listening to it brings back happy memories of our trip.

The following day was extra special as two of my cousins - who had found me on facebook in 2017 - had arranged to travel into Santiago from their home town of A Estrada. We met in front of the cathedral and spent the next couple of hours in a coffee shop poring over my family tree, and copies of obituaries and marriage announcements which Daniel had found for me in newspaper archives. Soledad and Antonio are related to me through my grandmother's family, our great-grandfathers were brothers. Although we have only met twice I feel we share a special bond, and they are a link back through the years to my Little Granny, Micaela.

Elizabeth and I flew home the next day, exhausted but exhilarated. When my certificates arrived I was thrilled with the accompanying email from Victor commenting that the staff at the arquivo believe my "effort and tenacity" to discover my Galician roots make me an "authentic native of Santiago"! I hope Micaela would approve.



Acknowledgement: The photograph of the inside of the Arquivo was downloaded from their website.

Out of the shadows - Part I

When we begin to research our family history, obtaining birth, marriage and death certificates is usually quite straightforward. Except of course if the side of the family you are interested in lived and died abroad. In this case, you need more than a little luck; for me it was a series of small miracles, as related in my book Chasing Shadows. 

It is very exciting when you discover these certificates. I have amassed quite a collection over the 15 years I have been researching my Spanish roots. When my Spanish grandmother left her native Santiago de Compostela to settle in Liverpool in 1904, she left behind a large family, parents, siblings, grandparents, and because they lived out their lives in the heart of that historic city, untouched for centuries, it was possible to locate all the houses they lived in, the churches where they married and the cemeteries where they were laid to rest. This is not the case in Liverpool, where the bulldozers and the Blitz wiped out all traces of the Hispanic society that once existed in the city.

Obtaining these certificates fulfils your basic curiosity; they can reveal some family secrets - and tragedies. Other records are also useful, my Spanish grandfather's seaman's certificate reveals that he was 5'6" tall and had a tattoo on his left forearm, but they can't tell us what our ancestors were really like, the minutiae of their daily lives. What do we know of those who were neither rich, famous, nor infamous enough for their lives to be of interest to the general population? Is it ever possible to find out what kind of people they were? To my eternal gratitude, Kirsty Hooper, co-ordinator of the Hispanic Liverpool Project - http://www.warwick.ac.uk/hispanicliverpool - was able to unearth information about my family that gave me a window into their lives.

I first met Kirsty when she was head of Hispanic Studies at Liverpool University and I attended one of her lectures. We kept in touch and in December, 2014, I was delighted to be asked to speak at the Information Afternoon on Liverpool's Hispanic History, held in the Central Library. Earlier this month, I was invited to contribute to the Hispanic Liverpool Community Collection project, hosted by Fact. After so many years trying to trace a Liverpool/Spanish connection, through these projects I have been able to meet families from similar backgrounds to mine and compare notes. I spoke to people whose Spanish grandparents were neighbours of my Spanish grandparents. I learned of a tight-knit community of Hispanics whose men, like my grandfather, mostly worked for the Larrinaga Shipping Company, or kept the boarding houses where those who hadn't settled in Liverpool stayed when on shore. However, I never dreamt of discovering any facts about the social lives of my grandmother's family back in Spain, any letters that were exchanged having long since disappeared. Following the December meeting, I learned that Kirsty, very generously, and quite unknown to me at the time, had carried out a piece of research on my behalf. Accessing the archives of various Santiago newspapers for the period 1885 to 1945 she had unearthed information that would make my trip to Spain in March this year even more special than usual.

Various certificates had proved that my great-great-grandfather was a sombrerero, or hatter, but it was a different matter to see the report of an attempted break-in in 1883, 'at the business of the well-known hatter... by one of the nasty little thieves who currently thrive in this city...' In 1885, another newspaper had an advert for his shop, which gave the address. No longer a hat shop, it is now a cafe bar - El Paradiso - and we were able to lunch there each day, following my ancestor's footsteps over that threshold some 130 years later.

His son, my great-grandfather, must have been of some standing in the city for his return from 'America' - presumably Buenos Aires - to have been reported in January 1904, the same year that my grandmother emigrated to England. Another extract reports that Carmen, my great-aunt, was preparing for her first communion in July, 1920. On an earlier trip, I had visited the church where my great-aunt Maria was married in July 1925, but the newspaper report of her marriage, describing her 'natural charm and beauty highlighted by a delightful silk dress and the classic Spanish mantilla' brought the bare facts to life.

I have a photo of my great-grandparents. It shows a stern-looking couple, sitting well apart, who don't look particularly appealing, yet the detailed report of their Golden Wedding celebrations in the newspapaper El Compostelano on 24 December 1930 describes them as 'both beloved and appreciated by all the social classes of Santiago, as are their children...who have been able to create, by their assiduous labour, one of the most honest homes in Compostela'. It appears they were able to put the indiscretions of their youth behind them - their eldest daughter, my grandmother, was born three years before they married and their second child followed barely two months after their marriage! The obituary for my great-grandmother in El Compostelano on 7 April 1945 is fulsome in its praise, describing her as 'a kind-hearted person who enjoyed general admiration', and in her funeral cortege two days later 'were full representations of all the sectors of the city, showing plainly - albeit for such a sad reason - the general sympathy enjoyed by the deceased and her family'. A sad contrast to the funeral of her daughter in Liverpool less than five years later - buried in a pauper's grave far from the land of her birth.

Newspaper reports also gave an indication of where the family's sympathies lay - in January 1934, one of my grandmother's sisters subscribed to a 'Children's Festival - organised on behalf of the poor children of Santiago', and also that month, four sisters subscribed to a 'Regional Tribute to the Secretary of the Committee for Autonomy'. 

All of these newspaper extracts have strengthened my connection to Santiago de Compostela, the city I've grown to love; there is also a sense of sadness that my grandmother lived out her life without this strong network of a well-respected family to help her through the bad times. But she wasn't the only one of my great-grandparents' children to cut themselves off from what appears to have been a comfortable life in Spain. And what did I discover about my great-grandfather the artist? Did the newspapers help in that search? More in Part 2...

Walking the Camino

Today, I am in conversation with Pat Dorrian who, with her husband Tom, has recently been walking a section of the Camino Francés, beginning in Sarria.

Pat, welcome. I have visited many towns and villages along the Camino, I have spoken to pilgrims and wished the walk, or even a small part of it, was something I’d done when I first began visiting Galicia in the year 2000. Can you tell me how and when you first heard about the Camino, and whether you set out on the journey mainly as a walking holiday, or as a spiritual pilgrimage?
I think I first heard about the Camino at school. I would always have been aware of the notion of pilgrimage. I set out on the journey as a walking holiday and an adventure with close friends, but would also have wanted it to be a spiritual pilgrimage.

I know that you went with a tour company – would you recommend this for less experienced, and/or, may I say, more ‘mature’ walkers? If so, what were the advantages?
Travelling with a tour company meant that we were given a lot of information and advice in advance so that we knew what clothing and equipment to take. We used a company called Camino Ways and they were very organised, providing us with a map and map notes for each day of the walk. Our luggage was always waiting when we got to our hotel, and the hotels had been carefully chosen and were extremely comfortable.

Before we discuss the more personal aspects of your walk, perhaps you can give me a brief itinerary – the number of miles walked each day, and the names of the towns or villages where you stayed each night?
We walked an average of twelve miles a day, but some days we walked fifteen and on two days we walked eight or nine hours. We began in Sarria and arrived at Santiago on day six, having passed through Portomarín, Palas de Rei, Arzúa and Rúa/O Pino.

How many people were in your group? Did you feel that the size of the group was reasonable, and did you know any of them prior to your journey?
In our group there were six; four of us were very close friends and we had met the other two and knew that they were simpatico. A larger group would be fine but there would need to be acceptance of each others’ aims, and a lot of freedom within the group.

One of the things I love about Galicia is that there are still places where you can step out of the hustle and bustle of life and enjoy the solitude of a deserted beach, forest, or hillside, with only birdsong and the hum of insects to keep you company. Did you find more enjoyment in walking with other members of the group, or did you and Tom sometimes prefer to walk alone?
Because each person was free to walk at his or her own pace, it often happened that you had time walking entirely by yourself and this was good because it left your mind free for thought. At other times, we walked with other members of the group.

On any holiday, but particularly with a trip such as this, you meet with people from a variety of backgrounds, did you find the evenings a pleasant opportunity to chat with and form friendships with other walkers – or were you all too tired to be sociable?!
We did sometimes chat with other walkers. Tom talked quite a lot with people he hadn’t met before and we all enjoyed talking with a young Spanish girl who had a drink with us on our last evening in Santiago. She was a private banker who spoke perfect English and she talked a lot with us about the Spanish economy.

As this was your first trip to Northern Spain, did it live up to your expectations, or did you set off not knowing quite what to expect with regard to architecture, scenery, etc? What were your favourite places?
I was amazed at the greenness of Galicia and at the extent of its wooded areas. It felt like authentic ‘country’ Spain. Our walk took us past so many little villages (in one of which I bought my souvenir scallop shell) and farms. We also stayed at several proud country towns. The architecture in Santiago was a delight.

Because Santiago de Compostela is so special to me personally, I am interested to hear what your impression was on first reaching the historic heart of the city – and especially your reactions on entering the cathedral.
I was struck by the proportions of the central square, the age and beauty of the university buildings and, of course, the cathedral itself. As pilgrims have done for hundreds of years, we said ‘hello’ to St James and touched the head of his statue. We thoroughly enjoyed the spectacle of the giant botafumeiro as it swung dramatically almost to the ceiling of the cathedral. It was certainly moving to see people of every race, age and colour reaching the cathedral with a good purpose.

My final question is rather a personal one. At the end of the walk, and after the mass at the cathedral, did you feel that you and Tom had taken part in a genuine pilgrimage, rather than simply a pleasant, if exhausting, walking holiday – and if so, what do you think will be the lasting effect upon you?
We both felt that this had been more than simply a walking holiday. It was certainly enjoyable – there were lovely meals and wine and lots of laughter – but at the end of it I felt a lot lighter and a lot happier, and perhaps more integrated as a person. This had not been a ‘heavy’ experience, but a very gentle one, which felt like a true blessing and for which both of us, and the rest of our group, were very grateful. The lasting effect, I hope, will be to retain and seek to continue to be open to such blessings in the future.

Many thanks, Pat, for taking the time to talk to me with such an interesting insight into a modern-day pilgrimage. I only wish I could have been walking alongside you!

Family history research: hobby or obsession?

For those of us with the urge to delve into the past, to find out what our ancestors did and where they came from, there is often help close at hand. We can begin on our home computers, or at the local library, to search census records, births, marriages and deaths, etc. We ‘silver surfers’ are also probably the first generation fortunate enough to enjoy a retirement which will be long enough to indulge our ‘hobby’.

The problem is that by the time we feel the urge to search for our roots, it is usually decades too late to ask questions of older family members. Quite often, we were told family stories as children, but at that age didn’t realise their significance. And for those of us with siblings, it doesn’t always follow that we all heard the same stories – siblings often have different versions of a shared childhood.

My father came from a large family, and his mother lived until I was in my thirties with a family of my own, but there were no anecdotes passed down; they were not a family of ‘talkers’, and I was able to gain only the briefest glimpse of what life must have been like for him as a child. But with regard to actual information, a cousin had begun researching my paternal family tree long before it became ‘popular’, and at the time of his death had produced a family tree that stretched back centuries and had more branches than a forest.

With my mother’s family, it was different. She was born in Liverpool of Spanish parents and because of the stories I had been told as a child, I felt more emotionally involved. My curiosity was aroused, perversely, because the difficulties in obtaining certificates and any other ‘concrete’ evidence of my Spanish heritage seemed insurmountable.

Where do you begin when all you know about your maternal grandparents are their names and that they came from Galicia, possibly Santiago de Compostela, in Northern Spain? Where do you begin when, at the age of sixty, you find yourself with the urge to discover your grandmother’s roots – the grandmother who died in Liverpool when you were ten years old and who, to your knowledge, still didn’t speak English after fifty years in this country?

I set off to Northern Spain on my first voyage of discovery in 2000, with very little hope but a lot of enthusiasm. The full story of my search is documented in my book Chasing Shadows, but what has been important to me is not just the physical journeys – seven in the past 14 years – but the people I have met and the effect my research has had on my life in retirement. Yes, it is wonderful to have a maternal family tree going back to 1822, with the possibility of reaching even further back as time and funds allow, but the memories involved in obtaining each and every one of those birth, marriage and death certificates are priceless.

Officials in Registro Civils and in Diocesan Arquivos have gone beyond the call of duty as I’ve sat hour after hour in bright modern offices housed in medieval buildings. I speak very little Spanish and many of the people I met didn’t speak English, yet somehow we managed to communicate. And my joy at unravelling yet another thread has often been matched by the smile on the face of an official – the story of this elderly lady from England trying to find her Spanish roots has somehow touched their imagination.

Searching through BMD or census records on your computer, or scrolling through microfiches in the family history section of a public library is exciting, but it cannot be compared to the thrill of sitting in a room in a foreign city, carefully turning the pages of a book containing entries written hundreds of years ago. Even when not allowed to handle the books oneself – as in the Registro Civil in Santiago de Compostela – the air of tension in the room as my eyes followed the clerk’s finger moving slowly down the page looking for my grandmother’s family name, and the leap of excitement when I recognised the name of her sister, is what turned my love of research into an obsession.

I find it amazing that on visits to the Registro Civil in subsequent years, it was evident that the clerk remembered me. It amazes me that on visiting a bar on our trip to Galicia this summer, the owner not only remembered me and my husband but could recall every moment of the morning 14 years before when he’d introduced us to a young girl, Nicola, who was on holiday from London staying with the Spanish side of her family. Then aged only 16, Nicola has become a much-loved friend. We attended her wedding to Antonio in 2007 – it meant so much to me to be able to attend a truly Spanish wedding – and also count her parents, who live in London, as special friends. It is a joy to see Nicola and Antonio’s beautiful four-year old daughter being brought up, as was Nicola, bilingual and fully aware of her dual heritage; something that was denied me.

Other people have been instrumental in making my research a life-changing journey of discovery. Without the help of Father Joseph Fleming, originally from Liverpool and when we met him, an archivist in the Arquivo Histórico Diocesano in Santiago, my research would never have got off the ground. It is our great personal regret that he died, tragically young, before he could see the outcome of his help and influence.

Other people have filled in gaps for me. Trawling through sites connected with maritime history on the internet, I eventually met David Eccles, the author of a book on the Larrinaga Shipping Line which employed my grandfather. Through him, I met a family whose grandfather had been a chauffeur to the Larrinagas and was able to peruse family photograph albums. Kirsty Hooper, now Associate Professor of Hispanic Studies at Warwick University, was in that same post at Liverpool University when I attended one of her lectures a couple of years ago. Kirsty is compiling a database of Galician and Basque immigrants to Liverpool in the years 1850-1950 and I hope to speak at its launch in Liverpool at the end of the year. Through Kirsty, I was introduced to Xesús Fraga, journalist, writer and translator, who interviewed me for his newspaper La Voz de Galicia last year. By another of those coincidences I have experienced over the years, Xesús is from Betantoz, the Galician city where my grandfather may have been born. I say ‘may have’, as I have only the most slender of clues about his life at present. We met Xesús in person on our last visit and his help in introducing me to the director of the Museo das Mariñas which holds census records, may be the tiny thread that leads me to unravelling the mystery of my grandfather’s life prior to him arriving in Liverpool.

The city of Santiago de Compostela has become a very special part of my life. Even when I return from a trip without a certificate or a piece of definite information, I have soaked up the atmosphere, I have seen all the houses where my grandmother lived – not possible in Liverpool since they have all been demolished. I have sat in churches in Santiago where family baptisms, first holy communions and weddings have taken place. I have had lunch in a restaurant with the proof in my hand that my great-great grandmother died in an upstairs room of the building over a hundred years before. On this trip I walked through the cemetery where my great-grandparents were buried and I now have an address where I may be able to obtain the whereabouts of their actual graves.

Family history magazines are a great source of information for genealogists at all stages of their research – I have just had an article published in July’s edition of Your Family Tree – and, very slowly, some information is now coming through on the internet if, like me, your ancestors originated from another European country.

None of my research would have been possible without the support of my husband. Each time we take a trip to Santiago it has been incorporated into our annual holiday. We love staying with Nicola’s family while we carry out three or four days’ research before moving on to tour other parts of Spain. We have visited the length and breadth of Galicia; from its historic cities of Coruña and Lugo to its golden, unspoilt beaches, mountains and forests. We have holidayed further afield in Cantabria and the Picos mountains; and the beautiful cities of Oviedo, Léon, Salamanca and Cacerés – but Santiago de Compostela is still where my heart lies!

So, family history, is it a hobby or an obsession? Writing about family history research has become a very enjoyable hobby, and it still gives me a thrill when someone buys my book. But as for the actual research – the answer is definitely, an obsession!

Reflections on Santiago

In a recent edition of the town and parish magazine, Your Berkhamsted, I read an article by Kate Perera, Singing in Santiago, which evoked my own thoughts of the city.

I made my own very special pilgrimage to Santiago de Compostela in the year 2000, researching my family tree. My maternal grandparents were from Galicia and I had been told that my grandmother left Santiago in the early 1900s after a double tragedy and settled in Liverpool, where she met my sea-farer grandfather and where my mother was born. I knew very little of my grandmother’s life in Spain except for anecdotes passed down through my mother – my grandfather had died before I was born and my grandmother didn’t speak English – so I went to Santiago with no information but a great deal of hope.

The Museo del Monasterio San Martin Pinario was crucial to my search. This magnificent building also houses the church archives for Santiago and it was here in June 2000 that I met the young priest – by an incredible coincidence also from Liverpool – who was to prove invaluable in my search for my roots.

Kate’s mention of the Hostal de los Reyes Católicos, also brought back memories. This is now a sumptuously and historically furnished parador, where my husband and I were lucky enough to spend one night a couple of years ago. In my grandmother’s day it was the hospital for Santiago, with its own chapel, and during our stay I was able to lay my hands on a physical piece of my family history. It still makes me weep to remember the story behind it.

And so to Santiago’s magnificent catedral; I remember the first time I traversed its wide aisles before climbing the steps behind the high altar to touch the statue of St James. I am not a Roman Catholic, unlike my ancestors, but during a pilgrim’s mass on that first visit I had the unforgettable sensation of a distinct link with the past. On a later visit, I was also lucky enough to be present on a holy day when the botafumeiro was swung; the one now in use is a replica as the original was stolen by Napoleon’s troops!

Kate’s article made me feel nostalgic; it has been two years since my last visit to Santiago and I must return soon. Since my first visit 13 years ago, I have unearthed more information about my grandmother and her – my – family than I ever thought possible. And it is only now that I fully understand what a brave woman she was. I hope she would have been pleased that I’ve visited her city; when I walk the streets she walked as a young girl I feel that I’m taking her home. I also hope she would be pleased that I’ve recently been interviewed about my search for my roots in the Galician newspaper La Voz de Galicia.

About Santiago de Compostela

Santiago de Compostela in Galicia, northern Spain, is a city of pilgrimage for Roman Catholics, the main focal point being its cathedral, believed to house the tomb of St James. The cathedral has been rebuilt four times, its golden Baroque shell enclosing a medieval interior. The cathedral is set in Santiago's main square, the Praza do Obradoiro, in the heart of the old city. It is flanked on one side by the Hotel Reis Catolicos, originally a pilgrim's hostel built in the early 1500s, but now a luxurious parador. The praza is unusual in that it is not lined with restaurants, pavement cafes or souvenir shops but it is always thronged with people, groups of tourists who have been coached in from cruise ships anchored at Vigo; Spanish tourists flocking in from the bus station, a stone's throw from the cathedral; weary pilgrims, weighed down with backpacks, often wearing the traditional cloak, hat and staff and hurrying to climb the cathedral's magnificent Baroque steps and enter its Romanesque doorway, the Portico de la Gloria, or 'Gateway to Heaven in time for the midday service.

However, there is no shortage of restaurants, bars, taverns and opportunities for souvenir shopping in the smaller squares and narrow, granite paved streets of the historical centre. Places to sit and stare, to enjoy a tortilla and a glass of rioja, followed by a slice of traditional Santiago tarte, whilst marvelling at the architecture of the dozens of monasteries, convents, churches and museums. One great advantage of the city is that its historical heart is small enough to be explored on foot and has an intimate atmosphere which is vibrant without being frenetic.

Outside the old centre, Santiago is a city like many others, with department stores, commercial buildings, hotels, fountains and green spaces – and traffic. If you wish to travel further afield, hire a car and visit the seaside town of Sada or the bustling port of La Coruna, with its attractive glazed facades lining the Paseo Maritimo.