A succession of Willies

Margaret Thatcher famously once said that every prime minister needs a Willie.

I, too, have been searching for a Willie, but in my family history. And now, by a bit of good fortune, I have solved one of those little knots that come up in genealogical research.

I knew that William existed. He was my great-great-great-great grandfather. However, the transcribed records that I have managed to lay my hands on seemed to indicate that he had, in fact, died in childhood. This would have been a problem, and might have led to the tricky discovery that I was merely a figment of my own imagination.

My existence is secure, however.

Back then in the mid-1700s, it was not uncommon that, if a child died, one of the subsequent children would be given the same name. There are several cases of this on my books. In this case, however, the burial of the first William took place on the exact same date as the baptism of the second William. For some reason, only half of this information got into the transcribed records.

With my twenty-first century sensitivities, this seems a bit cold. I can almost imagine the gruff Yorkshire father: "Eeh, 'eck. Now 'e's gone, you'd better 'ave 'is name, lad!"

In this particular instance, it even seems likely that William One was still alive when William Two was born. So at what point was William Two's name decided? Was William One still warm?

It also makes me ponder on the psychological effect on someone of going through life bearing the name of a deceased sibling.

It can't have been too heavy a burden on William Two, however. When he grew up, he named his third child William. That's my great-great-great grandfather.

It all gives me the willies.