Returning to his laptop, he opened up asearch page on Ancestry for the birth of Rebecca Ransom with the mother’smaiden name, Mercer. One result.
‘December quarter of 1911. RebeccaVictoria Ransom, mother’s maiden name, Mercer. District of Bristol. Volume 6a. Page 103.’
Morton smiled. His next step was toensure that Rebecca actually made it into adulthood, although from what RayMercer had said about this side of the family’s not being very helpful, heguessed that she had lived a full life. On previous cases, Morton’sexhilaration at this same point had been dashed when he had discovered that thechild had died soon after birth. He typed Rebecca’s name into the1916-2007 marriage index and found that she had married a Victor Reginald Cattin 1935. Putting her name into the death search index 1916 to 2007 gaveone result.
Name: Rebecca Victoria Catt
Birthdate: 1stNovember 1911
Dateof Registration: June1993
Ageat death: 81
RegistrationDistrict: Bristol
InferredCounty: Gloucestershire
RegisterNumber: 13c
Districtand Subdistrict: 3011I
Entrynumber: 124
Mortonwas pleased to see that Rebecca had married and lived a full life. Now heneeded Rebecca to have left the standard paper trail of children andgrandchildren. Switching back to the birth index, Morton found thatVictor and Rebecca had produced three children together: two boys and a girl,all born in the Bristol area. To save time, Morton prioritised hissearches with the two boys, Reginald and Douglas.
In the time that it took for Morton tofinish the final splashes of his coffee, he had undertaken searches into thegenealogical backgrounds of Reginald and Douglas Catt. He had confirmedthat both men were still alive, both had their own wives and children and,using an electoral roll website, he had an address and phone number for eachman. He considered cold-calling them but only liked to do this in themost urgent circumstances. Before typing out a letter to each man, hecarried out a quick Google search of their names.
‘Bingo,’ Morton said, as he clicked hiscursor onto the website of ‘V. R. Catt and Sons, Ironmongers.’ Accordingto their website, Victor Reginald Catt had set up an ironmonger’s store inBristol in 1948, his two sons gradually taking over the business in the1980s. Morton saved a black and white photograph of Victor outside hisshop in 1950 and a colour image of him and his sons outside the shop celebratingtheir fortieth anniversary in 1988.
Navigating back to their home page, Mortonclicked on the ‘Contact us’ tab and then set about typing a message into thecontact form. ‘Dear Douglas and Reginald, I hope you don’t mind myemailing you out of the blue like this; I am a forensic genealogist who isresearching the Mercer family tree, to which I believe you belong. Inparticular, I am concentrating on trying to discover what became of MaryMercer, the sister of your grandmother, Caroline Ransom (née Mercer), whodisappeared without trace in 1911. At this very early stage in myinvestigations, I am considering that one avenue of possibility is that Marymay have visited her sister Caroline at some point in or after 1911 and wouldreally welcome your thoughts on this. I look forward to hearing fromyou. Kind regards, Morton Farrier.’
Morton clicked the ‘Submit’ button and themessage vanished. He now just needed to wait patiently and hope that theywould respond. Morton returned to the three lists of people close to Maryin 1911. By far, the longest list was the staff of Blackfriars. Didthe household and staff accounts books still survive? Mortonwondered. A brief Google search told him that the property was in thehands of the Mansfield family, the same family as in 1911 when Mary haddisappeared. He had driven past the imposing property countless times,Winchelsea being on the unavoidable route between his house in Rye and hisfather’s in Hastings, yet, despite it having been open to the public since1960, he had never actually set foot in it. It was high time for a visit.
Mortonhad trained to be a forensic genealogist in the time before family history hadexploded onto the internet. He loved the immediacy and speed of such ahuge plethora of records being online, but for him, the biggest enjoyment camefrom an immersion in history: holding ancient documents between his fingers,analysing faded photographs and uncovering lichen-covered tombstones in thesearch of an elusive ancestor. He needed little convincing to step out ofhis study for some hands-on research.
He had decided to park on Friar’s Road inthe summer shadows of the town church. Grabbing his bag, he stepped outinto the early-afternoon sun, taking in the stillness of the small town. Winchelsea, being just three miles from his home, had always fascinatedhim. The casual visitor or holidaymaker often came here to see a quaint,well-preserved English village; those unguided tourists left without theknowledge that it was in fact a town, once envisaged by its founder, Edward I,as one of the leading seaports in England. Further confusion often cameby the unique design of the town using a grid pattern, something which oftenconfused visitors used to associating it with modern American cities.
Morton began to assimilate hissurroundings, picturing himself here more than one hundred years ago,consciously removing all traces of modern life.
It was very easy to imagine Friar’s Roadin 1911; but for the addition of a scattering of cars and a couple oftelevision aerials and satellite dishes, the village was delightfully devoid ofthe usual modern street furniture; it even lacked street lighting. Heturned his attention to the run of attractive stone and brick cottages. Number three
