About the secrets of our ancestry

If there’s one thing Americans love, it’s finding out where they came from, discovering their family history. In a country where everyone – with the exception of the Native Americans – is descended from immigrants, it is natural to want to know where your ancestors started off. I have met many people of Scottish descent since I came here – and a ton of wannabe Scots.

Genealogy is a fascinating subject if done properly and carefully. The key is to dig up the real life stories behind the names of ancestors that are scrawled on marriage licenses, census documents and death certificates. Behind those faded names lie a million gripping tales.

But a word of warning. Do not expect royalty or aristocracy to show up in your bloodline. Genealogy is not for the squeamish. Expect eye-popping scandal to come jumping off the pages at you. Believe me it is far more fun.

For the past few years I have been engrossed in genealogy and have put together fairly comprehensive family trees for myself and my wife. It has been a bit sad, a bit shocking but most of all it’s been an eye-opener.

In terms of sadness and tragedy nothing touches the story of my maternal grandfather’s three oldest siblings. My great-grandparents Alexander Macdonald, a farmer, and his wife Ann Mackintosh lived in the remote farming community of Bohenie in Lochaber – look on Google Maps and you’ll see how remote it is.

In 1889 they had two daughters and a son, aged 14, 13 and 10. Within a six day period that December all three children fell victim to a diphtheria epidemic. Apparently their three coffins were laid side by side in the living room of the old stone farmhouse where they lived.

Scotland dominates my family line, but I discovered an unexpected Irish influence that my immediate family knew nothing about – and what a disreputable bunch they turned out to be.

A great-great-great grandfather on my mother’s side, Peter McSorley, came to Scotland from County Tyrone in the 1820s when the potato crop was failing. Peter was a mason by trade and worked as a canal builder.

He died in April 1860 while working near Fort William. I then dug out his death certificate. It read that he had died on the “high road” between Blaich and Duisky on the shores of Loch Eil and that the cause of death had been “exposure to cold and wet while intoxicated”. (pictured is a recent photo of the road where he was found)

So poor Peter didn’t make it home that night, but worse was to come. His son, William McSorley (who later changed his surname to Sorley) was my great great grandfather. He was living in Ratho, Midlothian, when he died aged 45.

This time the death certificate from 1882 revealed he had suffered from pneumonia for 13 days and “delirium tremens” for three days. In other words he died an alcoholic.

Am I ashamed of any of this? Absolutely not. What it proves is that our ancestors were real people, not just names on old documents, and lived life to the full.

So that side of my Irish ancestry produced some juicy scandal. But another Irish discovery turned up an incredible coincidence.

My paternal grandfather came to Scotland from Downpatrick, County Down. My wife grew up in Pennsylvania as part of a family descended from European countries including Germany, Lithuania and England.

But way back in the 1700s my wife has a 5xgreat grandfather by the name of John Crickard. His son Michael left home in Ireland and moved to Staunton, Virginia – John may have gone with him. And where did they live in Ireland before sailing the Atlantic? Downpatrick, County Down. It’s a small world.

The secret is not to accept your ancestors’ names at face value but to dig deep. I have uncovered many other incredible stories that illuminate our family trees and I’ve only scratched the surface. Resources are abundant – family members, libraries, Internet – but just be prepared for the unexpected.