The Harlans

What is it with England and crematoriums? You are never far from one.  I know this because for some strange reason, there are signs for them everywhere. No matter where you drive, you are never far from a crematorium, and possibly, a pet crematorium. 

Another odd tidbit I have learned about the English... Ironing everything, including unterwäsche. Why?? Why would you spend a second iron ANYTHING that is not absolutely necessary? (Cheers Andrea!)

This blog post is about the middle part of the road trip my mother and I took in March 2011. Our first stop was Norwich.  Next we drove north to Sunderland, which is 60 miles south of Hadrian's Wall, to visit the church where our Harlan ancestors were baptised (detailed in this blog). Then we ended the trip visiting Pemberley, aka, Chatsworth.

Around 1625, James Harland was baptised in the bishoprick of Durham, in the abbey of Monkwearmouth. According to tradition, his father's name was William, but there is no document to prove it. William would be my great (x9) grandfather.

St. Paul's, Jarrow.

The abbey was founded in 674 by Benedict Biscop, first with the establishment of the monastery of St Peter's, Monkwearmouth on land given by Egfrid, King of Northumbria (Egfrid is high on my list of dog names). His idea was to build a model monastery for England, sharing his knowledge of the experience of the Roman traditions in an area influenced by Celtic Christianity stemming from missionaries of Melrose and Iona. A papal letter in 678 exempted the monastery from external control, and in 682 the king was so delighted at the success of St Peter's, he gave Benedict more land in Jarrow and urged him to build a second monastery. Benedict erected a sister foundation, St. Paul's, at Jarrow, appointing Ceolfrid (pronounced Chólfrid, good name for a cat) as its superior, who left Wearmouth with 20 monks (including his protégé the young Bede) to start the foundation in Jarrow. (Wikipedia and me)

St. Paul's, Jarrow.

Our first stop was to visit St. Paul's, which is old, mossy and charming. We arrived in time for Sunday service, and it was baptism day! We got to see two English fatties get dipped.

Toni in front of St. Paul's, Jarrow.

It was moving to sit in an ancient church and see a rite that has been repeated for ages. And I must say I love babies, even the pasty white ones.

Wall of St. Paul's, Jarrow.

James Harland had at least three sons, Thomas, George and Michael, who emigrated to Ireland. Then in 1687 George and Michael sailed for America. George is my great (x8) grandfather.

Jarrow Abbey ruins.

They lived in a time of religious turmoil, and at some point the brothers converted from Church of England to the Quaker faith.

Norman tower, St. Peter's, Monkwearmouth.

The Religious Society of Friends (Quakers) began in England in the late 1640s, in a context of social upheaval which included increasing dissatisfaction with the established church, the execution of King Charles I, and the rise of Nonconformist movements. (Wikipedia)

Norman doorway to St. Peter's...we're BACK!

The founder of Quakerism is generally accepted to have been George Fox. He became convinced that it was possible to have a direct experience of Jesus Christ without the mediation of clergy. He began to spread this message as an itinerant preacher and found several pre-existing groups of like-minded people; he felt called to gather them together, eventually becoming accepted as their leader. (Wikipedia)

Detail of Norman tower...

In the first few years of the movement, Quakers thought of themselves as part of the restoration of the true Christian church after centuries of apostasy. (Wikipedia)

St. Peter's.

So after watching the baptisms in St. Paul's, Toni tucked a 20 pound note into an old lady's hand and asked her to add it to the collection, and we scooted out to find St. Peter's, where our ancestors were baptised.

Saints George and Michael, St. Peter's.

To our delight, we found it, and it was gorgeous. Big, mossy, stone building. Our hearts swelled with emotion as we walked through the old gate, imagining our people, long ago doing the same. I was verklempt thinking about my grandpa Harlan.

Baptismal font with upside down crucifix of St. Peter,
not the one in which our relatives were dunked.

It was closed.

Names of curates from the time of the Harlands.

In the words of Paris Hilton, total bummer!

Monk, St. Peter's, right Bubbe???

An attached hall was open and two or three people walked in to set up for a scout meeting. Scouts are big in England...

Roman altar stone, repurposed.

Bubbe and I asked if there was anyone who could open the church for us. We explained that we were in town for only one day.  The answer to that was no.

So we continued chatting with the friendly northerners and mentioned that we had come to see the place where our relly was baptised in 1625.

"You're in the wrong church." A very nice, shy, mother of a scout insisted. "St. Andrew's didn't exist in 1625." Say what?  She gave us directions and sent us on our way.

The face of Christ?
That wasn't the answer he was looking for...

We walked into St. Pete's not knowing what to expect. Services had recently ended and we asked if we could take photos, and mentioned why we were visiting. "Well, you're in luck! Our official church historian and guide is here today." A portly bald gentleman led us over to the elderly, handsome silver haired fellow in the above photo and quickly ran away.

Ceolfrith.

Two and a half hours later, my polite mother interrupted our guide's passionate soliloquy debating the true meaning of the last chapter of the Venerable Bede's  Historia ecclesiastica gentis Anglorum (The Ecclesiastical History of the English People), with, "So sorry, but we have to leave now."

And so then...I went to this conference...and it was so...boring...

We seriously learned a LOT about the church where our ancestors were baptised.

Oh my heavens what illustrious offspring!

For example, the shortlegged knight buried here is none other than the great grandpappy of Ms. Paris Hilton (from the 1400s). Sir Hilton fought valiantly so that his offspring might someday party sans unterwäsche!

We loved the ceiling.

The official name is The Abbey Church of Saint Peter and Saint Paul, Wearmouth-Jarrow. Jarrow became the center of Anglo-Saxon learning in the north of England, producing the greatest Anglo-Saxon scholar, Bede (that's SAINT Bede to you and me). The two churches of St. Peter's and St. Paul's have been nominated by the UK for World Heritage Site status, and the decision will be made this year.

Example of an illustrated page from the abbey.

St. Peter's is one of the UK's oldest churches and one of the first stone churches. The monks who lived and worked in the abbey created illuminated volumes of the Bible which weighed 75 to 85 pounds, and required the skins from 515 calves to produce vellum for the 2060 pages.

Wall tomb of Mary,
So chaste an honest wife, died in childbed 1617.

In England, Quakers were the target of a series of oppressive legislative measures passed between 1662 and 1665, including the Quaker Act, the Five-Mile Act, the Test Act, and the Conventicle Acts, and it is said that more than 300 Friends died in jail, and 200 were transported as slaves to the West Indies. It was not until 1689 that these oppressive laws were repealed with the passage of the Toleration Act, but in the meantime many Quakers had been severely mistreated. (Irish Interlude)

More of the quaint ceiling.

Quakers refused to pay tithes, nominally a tenth of income, the main source of income for the Established Church. As non-Anglicans, Quakers regarded tithing unjust, and refusing to pay, exposed themselves to prosecution. Those offenders lucky enough to escape jail had crops or property forcibly seized in lieu of payment, and opposition to tithing undoubtedly explains why many early Quakers left their homelands. This process sometimes involved a series of moves, and the Brothers' peregrinations fit this pattern.(Irish Interlude)


St. Peter's.

My great (x 7) grandfather had his tithes taken forcibly. "In 1680, George Harland, of County Down had taken from him in Tithe, by Daniel MacConnell, twelve stooks and a half of oats, three stooks and a half of barley, and five loads of hay, all worth ten shillings and ten pence." (William Stockdale: A Great Cry of Oppression, [cited by A. C. Myers: Immigration of the Irish Quakers into Pennsylvania 1682-1750 , p. 321])

No Harland gravestones were found.

George Harland was christened in St. Peter's church March 11, 1650.

Possibly in this font!

As an adult he became a Quaker and together with his brothers Thomas and Michael moved to County Down, Ireland. He married Elizabeth Duck (daughter of Ezekiah Duck and Hannah Hoope, born on 5 May 1660 in Shankill, Armagh, Ireland. Lurgan Parish) on September 17, 1678, in Down Co., Ireland. There's an Irish relative for you, Nin!



George and Elizabeth's marriage declaration.


"In the early months of the year 1687, in company with his wife and four children, and his brother Michael, then unmarried, he took ship at Belfast for America. They had bought lands before coming which were within that part of the Province of Pennsylvania now embraced in the County of New Castle. Ascending the river Delaware they landed at the town of New Castle (now in Delaware State), and settled near the present town of Centreville. Here the elder brother remained for some years, and about 1698/99, having purchased higher up the Brandywine Creek, he moved his family and settled in what is now Pennsbury Township, Chester County, Pennsylvania." ("History and Genealogy of the Harlan Family" by Alpheus Harlan, 1914)

I had a tough time writing and organizing this blog post. I was sucked into the story of my grandfather Maurice Harlan's family. Learning about the history of this family, my family, our family has inspired me. To contemplate their decisions and struggles, to see their strength encourages me to keep trying to be good. I wrote before about my fear of meeting my great grandmother Katter in heaven...well all this thought about my dead relatives' lives has made me think about my living ones and about my own life as well. I want to chat with my dad, hear my great grandfather play the violin, and meet lost loved ones, but much more than that, I want to love on those living in the here and now.

A little more than eight years ago, my sister, Barb and I, and our husbands(!) had a party where we invited the Be Good Tanyas to perform. We were thrilled out of our minds as we drove to the airport in several cars to pick up the band. We rolled down our windows and screamed to each other from car to car, ''IT'S HAPPENING!!"

Every once in a while my sister and I still say that to each other, really to remind ourselves that it IS happening. This life is happening. This is it!

Having my mom visit us was a precious gift. We went on a road trip through England! We laughed a ton, and we cried now and then (some of us more than others...better yet, I'll call it a tie). We had many relaxing dinners and lunches. We ate more than our fair share of clotted cream (really it was obscene), and enjoyed a glass or two of champas as often as we could manage. I love my mom, I loved spending time with her. She's brave enough to expect great things from life, and she never gives up. And you should see her teeth cleaning routine! The healthiest gums this side of the Himalayas.

Alpheus Harlan, in 1914, included this note in his book about the Harlans:

"After a third of a century of almost continuous endeavor, I am handing this work to my people for their approval. I do it with the earnest prayer that the present and future generations shall strive hard to uphold the standards as set and maintained by their forefathers." 

William, James, George, James, George, George, John, William, Walter, Maurice, Toni, Anne, (William, Anna, Michael, Dominic), ...

            Maurice Cooper Harlan, b. Rooks County, Kansas, 4/15/1908,  m. Ruth Otilia Katter, 6/8/1934, d.11/2/1988 Tucson, Arizona;

            Walter Lunt Harlan, b. Dallas County, Iowa, 1/25/1883  m. Carrie Pearl Cooper, 9/20/1905, d. March 1958 Des Moines, Iowa;

            William Henry Harlan (3116), b. Hendricks County, Indiana, 1/21/1849 at Perry, Dallas County, Iowa,  m. Mattie Corey Lunt 1/10/1887, d.----.

            John Harlan (875), b. Boyle County, Kentucky, 7/7/1811,  m. Sarah D. Byers 10/15/1835, d. 7/2/1896  Burlington, Coffey County, Kansas.

            George Harlan (220), b. Cumberland County, Pennsylvania 6/21/1761, m. Catherine Pope, d. 1/24/1837 Boyle County, Kentucky.

            George Harlan (45), b. Kennet Twp., Chester County, Pennsylvania 2/22/1718,  m. Ann Hunt.  d. between 1760 and 1762 Frederick County, Virginia.

            James Harlan (11), b. New Castle County (now in Delaware 8/19/1692, m. Elizabeth ______  unknown date.  d. subsequent to 1760, Fredrick County, Virginia.

            George Harlan (3), b. Nigh Durham in Bishoprick, England sometime before the date of baptism: 11th day of first month 1650. m. Elizabeth Duck 9/17/1678 County of Down, Ireland. immigrated to America in 1687, d. July 1714 Chester County, Pennsylvania. (dropped the 'd' from Harland after coming to America.)

           James Harland (1), b. Bishoprick, nigh Durham, England about 1625. d. unknown.  His father's name said to be William.

Harlan Family in America http://www.harlanfamily.org/index.htm

St Peter's Church
St Peter's Way
Sunderland, Tyne and Wear
SR6 0DY
United Kingdom

Thank you so much to Mr. Shields, for the impromptu, in depth, and thoughtful tour of St. Peter's!

Grandmothers

The summer I was sixteen, my cousin Ellen and I spent a month with our Longton grandparents in upstate NY. I remember making my way downstairs from our attic bedroom that my grandmother had very carefully set up for us, into the kitchen for breakfast and finding my tiny grandmother in a leotard, upside down in a headstand.

Lunch at Wykeham Arms, Winchester.

As I recall, she did this for a half an hour every day.

I didn't think she was amazing, I mostly thought she was weird and annoying.

My mother can do a headstand also. I think it's quite a feat now that I'm 44, and I imagine that if I make it to 72 I will think it is fucking awesome.

Piggy back riding in London.

Toni gives amazing piggy back rides. First of all, she has hips that don't quit. Second of all, she is strong and feels solid. She gave me a great one a few years ago in San Francisco, up a serious flight of stairs. A diminutive foreigner stopped us, obviously needing to document this oddity.

Bubbe (that is her Grandma name) is a stickler for grammar. In the above photo she is explaining adverbs to five year old Dominic. No joke. She has tried on several occasions to exorcise the word "like" from her grand children's vocab. The last one I recall was having them pay her 25 cents every time they used the hated word. I think she might have tried harder to get me to stop saying it, because I, like, say it, like, all the time!

In front of Jane Austen memorial, Winchester Cathedral.

My grandparents and their antepasados seemed to care a lot about grammar and spoken language. We were not allowed to use the word "bellybutton" around my great grandmother Katter. Umbilicus was the preferred word. I clearly remember having anxiety about offending her with our words. I wondered what would happen if she heard the word "bellybutton"... (I want to add that knowing the word 'umbilicus' in the 2nd grade was fantastic, I loved to torture fellow youngsters by telling them their umbilicus was showing.)

Music night dinner.

When my mom was visiting in March I thought a lot about my great grandmother Katter (Bubbe's mother's mother), and her remarkable life. She lost her husband to "consumption" in her 20's, leaving her with three small children and a farm. In her extreme distress and depression she attempted to end her life, and was hospitalized in a mental institution. After she was released, she returned to the small town of Garner, Iowa, raised and educated her three daughters, and ran for and held a public office. She lived as a widow for 70 years.

Golden Retriever!

I really hope there is a heaven, because I want to see my grandparents again, and chat with them, and ask them questions. I want to hang out with my dad and listen to him tell stories and talk about the boring things that interest him. And I want to see my great grandmother and tell her I am so sorry she lost her beloved husband and that she lived through such extreme distress and pain. Generations later her great grandchildren carry her story and a very little bit of her pain.

Music night dinner.

But I am scared to chat her up, because I have trouble expressing myself with my mouth. I will, like, say like a lot, or end a sentence with a preposition, or some other horror.

But it has occurred to me...some people believe that in heaven we are made whole, as God has intended. In the after life we might be relieved of our mental illnesses, physical ailments, grey hair, skin tags and pimples. And hopefully, our grammar may be washed clean and healed of all errors.

Come on heaven!

Family Tree by Dominic
Featuring Dad, Brother (William), Anna and Dominic

So in March, Bubbe and I headed up north to visit the church where our Harlan relatives were last baptised before leaving England for good.

On our way!

"Cartrina", our navigational system (called a sat nav here) showed us the way. Our first stop was Norwich, Norfolk, the home town of Julian of Norwich, a 14th century christian mystic. When she was 30 years old Julian experienced a severe illness. A priest came to attend her death, and held a cross before her and asked her to draw comfort from the likeness of her Maker and Savior. She described that all was dark as night but a ray of light illuminated the figure on the cross. She then experienced visions and revelations of the passion of Christ and the love of God.

After she recovered, she became an anchorite and lived walled into a cell attached to the church for at least 40 years. She wrote about her visions and was the first woman to write a book in the English language, The Revelations of Divine Love.

We attended Vespers and Mass at the site of her original cell, which has been enlarged and rebuilt, after being torn down in the reformation. It was an intimate gathering of 12 people. I loved being in the space where Julian lived and prayed, another dream come true for me.

Julian wrote that God has forgiven us before we have repented or even sinned, and we need only to reach out and take that forgiveness into ourselves. In all-gracious God there is and can be no wrath. The wrath is in us and God's saving work is to quench our wrath in the power of all-compassionate love. We never need to fear sharing our dark side with God, for only pity and compassion are there to meet it. She wrote that we can spoil everything by persistent self blame, which is the fruit of pride and not an indication of humility. We must forgive ourselves even as God has forgiven us, and give up our senseless worrying and faithless fear.

She also wrote extensively that Jesus is our mother, and expressed many aspects of God in terms of motherhood and the feminine.

"All shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of thing shall be well."

My mother was generous and loving and indulged my obsession, despite her agnostic bones.

After venerating Julian we drove the next day to venerate Blickling Hall.

Anne Boleyn may or may not have been born here...her two older sibs probably were. This was the family home until the family moved to Hever Castle in Kent around 1507.

It is said that every year, on the anniversary of her execution, Anne Boleyn's headless ghost arrives at Blickling Hall in a carriage driven by a headless coachman.  The ghost carries her head under her arm. Blicking Hall is said to be the most haunted property in the United Kingdom.

We saw no ghosties, however, we learned a new word. Have you ever heard of a sitooterie? I had never. It is from Scottish and indicates a place to "sit oot in". (If you enjoy language, hit the link on the word for fun [Nin and Janet, this means you!].)


Blickling Hall sitooterie

 The house was rebuilt in 1620. It now belongs to the National Trust and is filled with lots of stuff. It is a great place to visit. You get a real feel for the lifestyle of the inhabitants. I loved that we could visit the kitchen.

Wasp catcher

The highlight of Blickling Hall was the library.

Notice my crazed expression in the following photo.

I want to point out that as the maker of this blog I can choose the fabulousest photos of myself. But this one just HAD to be included. The reason for the lunacy was this:

By a lady.

and this

and this!!!

Three first edition Jane Austen novels, purchased in her lifetime by Lady Suffield who lived in Blickling Hall in the late 18th - early 19th centuries. They are signed Caroline Suffield. I was so excited, I think I scared the librarian, who is working to catalogue the 12,000 volumes in the library. It will take him 10 years to complete the catalogue, and he's been at it one year so far.

From Blickling Hall we drove up north, 60 miles south of Hadrian's Wall to the home town of the Harlands, who left England in the 1600's for adventures in the colonies. Stay tuned for a story about a very chatty Englishman.