Inherited Craziness
A place to share all the nuts found on my family tree


Everyone has a story

Family stories, at best, usually have a mere grain of truth in them, almost universally contain large measures of exaggeration and "self-aggrandisement" and sometimes, huge amounts of complete fiction. Researching family history, therefore, becomes an exercise in debunking the family myths.

And I'll happily tell you that the reason I began researching my family was because my mother strenuously attempted to deter me from doing so. 

This blog was primarily a great way to keep, organise and cross-reference my own notes in this process, where I could also include links, photos and other media quite simply. And, whilst I could still do all of that and make it private, i.e. only for my own use, it may be of interest to others and is of use to me to be able to share the bits I know, when I need help on brick walls. If I'm really lucky, a long Lost Cousin might find something relevant to them ...

If you're related to any of the people written about, you'll recognise them from the surnames. If you are, do please get in touch. I'm happy to share research, records, family trees, but won't do so publicly. My identity isn't public to protect me, as well as other people who may still be alive. 

But even if you aren't in any way related, I hope you will still enjoy or learn something from these as stand-alone stories of seemingly ordinary people, but who had names and lives that mattered.

Why Inherited Craziness? 

Randomly, I came across this definition. Unfortunately, a business already has the name Sonder, so I didn't want to tread on their toes. Then the term 'inherited craziness', jumped out at me and I doubt even my own relatives would disagree with that as a name for our family history blog. :)

n. the realization that each random passerby is living a life as vivid and complex as your own—populated with their own ambitions, friends, routines, worries and inherited craziness—an epic story that continues invisibly around you like an anthill sprawling deep underground, with elaborate passageways to thousands of other lives that you’ll never know existed, in which you might appear only once, as an extra sipping coffee in the background, as a blur of traffic passing on the highway, as a lighted window at dusk.