Thursday 6th August 2009 – Just for the Record

Fairfield Library is full of lovely grown-up ladies digging up their ancestors.  When I mentioned a name, they gleefully suggested a website called "findagrave".  It all seemed a bit macabre to me. 

They were a little puzzled that I wanted to dig up an old town.  I explained that ancestors were really too personal: a town was a much more comfortable abstract idea, much more history than genealogy.

Before I knew where I was, they had showered me with appropriate books.  Grown-up ladies are suckers for the 'little boy lost' routine.  In minutes I had a whole day's reading ahead of me.

There is something quite satisfying about reading quietly in grown-up company.  Especially if everyone is researching something of no possible interest to the others: hours of quiet pleasure.  I even missed lunch (although, as a result of American breakfasts, I do that quite often).

 

Glasgow was set-up about 1840, by a couple of traders called Miller and Glasgow.  One can only guess at why it was called "Glasgow" rather than some variant of "Miller" (Millerston, in Glasgow, Scotland was where my school sports ground was, so it's not a terribly awkward name).

It was never very big.  It never got incorporated, never had a mayor, or police.  But by the end of the nineteenth century it appears to have run to a school, two churches, two doctors, two blacksmiths and a post office.  There were even Masons' and Oddfellows' lodges, and no doubt several stores.

By the nineteen-thirties, the Fairfield Ledger was extolling the virtues of Glasgow Airport.   They named it as somebody's "field", as they like to in the United States, but I feel, in this case that that may have been exactly what it was.

It seems to have faded rapidly in the late fifties, early sixties, no doubt in common with similar-sized communities all over America (and Europe, too, come to think of it).  If you look at it now, it's a sad thing to have happened, but it was inevitable.  People prefer their Wal-mart to the village store.  Of course they say they prefer the village store, but they sneak off to Wal-mart 'cos it's cheap.

 

One of the books I read ("read" is a bit of an exaggeration) was written about 2002 by Amber Aplara.  I think she wrote it as a High School or College Project, and if that is true it was really, really good.

Later that night, I was regaling some unfortunate with my story, when the young lady sitting next to me (out on a girls' night: "he's looking after the little one") suddenly said: "Did you say 'Glasgow'?  I live in Glasgow" (we're in Fairfield: Glasgow is about 12 miles away).  Now I've just been reading through the history of this small place, so I want to know her name: "No, your second name".  And, believe it or believe it not, she says "Aplara".  Amber turns out to be her husband's cousin.  And she thinks Amber is coming to visit next week.  How about that, eh?