People ask if I get sad or upset when I’m sorting through the belongings of someone who’s died. I don’t, but sometimes I come across something that makes me stop and wonder about their story.
I found these tiny gloves and bootees, carefully wrapped in a scrap of newspaper and sealed in an old sweetie tin. It didn’t look as if they’d ever been worn, but someone had knitted them lovingly for a baby. And kept them all these years, buried in the bottom of a trunk among blankets and embroidered table linen. The date on the newspaper was 1948 and the tin was a souvenir from the British Empire Exhibition held in Glasgow in 1938. Vital clues for a family historian. But there’s no family left: that’s why I am dealing with the lady’s possessions. What happened to the baby? Was it a hoped-for baby that was never born? Or a baby that didn’t survive? We’ll never know. It was a poignant moment for reflection in a busy day of work.
I took the tiny items home and gently washed them, hoping to remove the stains left by the rusting tin, but without success. They’d obviously meant a lot to someone and deserved to be treated with respect. But there’s no one left to hand them on to.
So if you keep mementoes and heirlooms, write down the story behind them, so that someone knows why they were important to you and your family. It’s what family history is all about.
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