Family history

I’ve been researching my family tree for a few years now, off and on because basically, I’m hoping somewhere down the line I have royal blood. After all I have ears like Prince Charles. Or if not regal, at the very least a Lord or Lady. I’m still searching but all I’ve found is paupers, workhouses, Irish farmers and criminals with a hint of french thrown in, which I’m not too happy about. Sacré bleu! Who would want to be French? I thought I might have had a dash of Italian in me as I love lasagne. And as for skeletons in the cupboard I’ve got a walk-in wardrobe full of them, including a fair bit of larceny and a very dodgy death. A bit like the Krays with rickets and typhoid.

Go back a few generations and bloody hell they had it rough in those olden days. Poor sanitation, barely any heat, very little food, and huge families that lived in one room in rat infested streets. Today we feel hard done by when the car doesn’t start or even worse, when your phone stops working. It’s the end of the world when the remote packs in and God help us if the wifi decides to play up.

So in the blue corner we have the mad Irish lot on my mam’s side. They came over when the potato famine started to crank up and settled in Hull. And in the red corner, on my dad’s side, we have criminals, workhouses and paupers with a french touch. In fact I’m thinking one of my ancestors could have been an Aristocrat who was going to be on the wrong end of a guillotine. Frederick Boileau was his name and who knows, he may have drank champagne with King Louis and Marie Antoinette while the peasants were revolting and somehow managed to escape all that Les Miserables stuff. It must have been a right racket with all that singing going on. I could have French royal blood flowing through these veins. Then again probably not, the poor sod ended up in a workhouse in London, dragging his wife and kid along with him.

As it stands I’m of common, lowly stock. My ancestors digging up spuds in some Irish bog, or doing hard labour in the clink then cannon fodder in various wars. Either way, not a drop of blue blood in sight. So I’m not related to the Royal Family which thinking about it, might not be a bad thing. Let’s be honest, who’d want to be related to Prince Andrew? It’s strange having all these faceless names on the family tree who eventually made me, me. I’ll keep digging though, for just one upperclass person hiding in there somewhere. Or maybe I go further afar? I love Chinese food so my long lost ancestor could be related to Emporor Ying Song from the Ming dynasty….I’ll just have a prawn cracker while I think about it…