Friends and family, back in the 1970s, would often aggravate each other with a lengthy holiday slideshow, presenting a string of identical beach views and nameless hillside vistas over the course of a dull evening. Today, there is a new phrase that can freeze the heart just as easily as the sight of a slide projector, and it is: “I’ve done some research into my family history and you’ll never guess what I’ve found out!” A scroll bearing a family tree unrolls to reveal a roster of Jacks and Noreens, leading back to some Charleses and Marys, each perching on ever-more-distant branches and ultimately signifying little about the people who are actually living and breathing around you.
For me, this became a domestic issue a while ago, because my husband, a history buff, takes genealogy quite seriously. To be fair, he was early to spot the wider growing public interest in family history as a hobby, even before the genetic element had truly taken hold with the arrival of rival commercial DNA-tracing services.
