Researching a family of which I knew nothing led me to the middle of an overarching family.
My parents would not tell me anything about my father’s family. Questions went unanswered. The Stewarts were a secret. So I grew curious. All I gleaned was that my father had a sister who had passed away before he was even born. I knew my father was born in
My father died in 1987. I was privileged to be given his Bible. In this I found information long hidden: Names of father, mother and sister; dates of births, deaths and marriages. Armed with this I began my journey into genealogy – a rather clinical name for what I had wanted to know all along – my family history.
I knew the Latter Day Saints had a
That having been said, I find myself in the difficult position that both my great-grandfather and great-grandmother were Stewarts - at least of totally different lines. So the Stewarts, and the Stones who married them, from the Uniondale-Langkloof area has developed into a not particularly easy search.
I got side tracked. I started adding my husband’s, Ludwic, family - only to realize that this was a major task. Soon the Benekes became a full time job.
The Beneke progenitor who arrived in 1734 had two wives and 17 children. I decided to try and sort out the whole lot. With the second generation born in
In addition to the Stewart and Beneke lines, I have a “Luke” great-grandfather born at sea with no parents named; an “Olivier” grandmother that I am also not managing to find out anything about; and, of course, the “Benekes” have hundreds of unanswered questions.
One thing that makes this hobby so rewarding is receiving photographs of lost relatives. To know what the older generation actually looked like definitely adds another dimension to my research. This unknown side of my family has me realize that they live in me.
The best moment in my research so far was waking up one Friday morning to find a transcribed letter, and scan of the original letter, written by a niece of my great-grandfather to another great-aunt telling her about the death of her mother. Until one finds something like this, one will never feel as close as I feel to these long passed relatives. They are not just names on death notices or information passed on by living relatives. They are people who lived and who loved and who worked for their children. We are their children. We are their family.