Discovering my ancestry: a journey of synthesizing and assimilating.

‘We don’t talk about that!’

My mother rasped at me in response to me showing her an antique lace cloth I had found in her belongings. She sounded like she was choking as she spoke; she sat on the other side of the room and glowered at me.

‘Why? On the back the cloth it says St Helena Island’

 I asked in my typically forthright way.

I thought she would have another story to tell.

I waited, no response.

Her hand waved in dismissal.

That was nine years ago.

***

The week before, a I had stumbled upon a family tree that, not only included my family, it was part of a huge Alexander family tree that started in the late 16^th century in Yateley, Hampshire. I was stunned as I never knew that I had English ancestors. This is part of the process of transformation.

I told my mother that I had found the family tree online but she did not responded. She looked annoyed and I wondered if she couldn’t hear me as she wasn’t wearing her hearing aid; or if she was ignoring me. I also wondered if she was uncomfortable about the use of modern technology for finding a family tree online as she never took to online technology. I was right. She was annoyed and bothered by me but it was for a different reason.

The following week when I gave her the lacework cloth I found out why.

‘We don’t talk about it because there might be ‘mixed blood’ (mixed race).

My jaw just about dropped on the floor. Firstly, I was quite tickled to discover intrigue and I didn’t mind at all about ‘mixed blood.’ Secondly my mother was not supportive of the South African Apartheid government and its beliefs, quite the contrary; she had worked for an anti-apartheid newspaper and magazine which was eventually closed down by the government. So I presumed she would be open to being a mixed race.  

She was quiet and I didn’t push any further.

That was the last time we spoke of this.

***

How naive I was, since I had not lived in my mother’s shoes. I would not begin to understand my mother’s fears until I had dug deep into the history of South Africa: History, not as white South Africans know it to be – but as the archives tell it. My mother’s history was intertwined with it and I didn’t know it at the time. These discoveries came later on.

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In 1673 Richard Alexander left Yateley for St Helena Island to work for the English East India Company. And this is where my journey of discovery started with the Alexander’s family tree on St Helena Island, north of Tristan da Cunha and west of Africa in the Atlantic Ocean. It played a strategic part in the trans-Atlantic slave route as it was used as a slave post where slavers could obtain fresh water and food, on their way to America. These slaves had been abducted from the West coast of Africa, it is presumed the Congo, Angola and some from Mozambique although it is still being determined where exactly.

This paper, The ancestry and geographical origins of St Helena’s liberated Africans, https://pmc.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/articles/PMC10502851/ discusses how they are trying to use DNA from graves on St Helena Island to reconnect with modern families with the same DNA. If you suspect you might have African DNA I would encourage you to explore your own roots.

This journey was also my first encounter with understanding slavery better; facing the idea that my white history inflicted such heinous atrocities was both distressing and disturbing. The slaves on St Helena Island (or anywhere else) were treated as objects of possession, with no rights, no security, no comforts, and no history; they forfeited their names, given new names that meant little to them and they eventually wouldn’t remember where they came from – the threat of cruel punishments hung over them daily (even for minor issues like going to church but sitting in the wrong pew). Women slaves, who were raped by their masters, were put to death but the master was allowed to go unpunished. They obviously didn’t think rape was a crime. It was not uncommon for a slave to be killed in the act of punishment. I sourced my information from the St Helena Island historical website. You can find all the Saint Helena Island information here if you want to delve more deeply into it.   https://sainthelenaisland.info/slavetrade.htm#lifeafterliberation This site is a valuable source of information of history; prominent people who came and went, links to slaver names and dates; and the community development after the abolishment of slaves.

What I am learning about now – was most notably covered up in our education under the South African Apartheid government until 1994. So this is part of my process now.  I am by nature a gentle, kind and caring person and I find it difficult to read about cruelty and torturous behaviour; as well as the lack of respect for life. Usually I shy away from gathering such information. I have always chosen not to watch violent movies in the past yet there is a thin line between not wanting to witness cruelty and not wanting to know the inconvenient truth. It is painful to witness. Even although it was hard for me to face the facts I wanted to face it; presuming my family was never a victim but most likely one of the perpetrators was an uncomfortable truth. This became my journey of synthesizing and assimilating. At first I was like a new bar of soap that still needs to get wet to lather properly. As I immersed myself in the depths of these descriptions of the appalling treatment I softened enough to lather, my heart melted and I prayed ‘My God, my God, how can mankind be so cruel – and I have roots in this arrogant, dominating white culture.  My privilege has afforded my comfort and kept me ignorant. My heart softens into soapy lathers as I contemplate the guilt on my hands passed down from ancestors I never knew.’  There was still a part of me, like a small dark corner, that thought ‘well maybe they didn’t all have slaves.’ That just shows how ignorant I was of the system of enslavers and the enslaved.

• Point to ponder:
  • The question is what do we do with the knowledge of the crimes happening now around us? What can we do? Do we feel helpless looking on at the cruelty of today’s dictators and the wars being waged? Even still do we have the victim’s blood of today’s crimes on our hands, as a wider community? And do we also turn our face away so that we won’t have to face what’s happening right now?
    • It is sobering and I have no easy answer.

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Coming back to the lace cloth we have: in the 1800s slaves were given their freedom –  there was a certain woman, Clara George, also known as Clara Rich and Clara Jacobs; she was born into slavery but gained a her freedom and married a freed slave, Charles George. Once they had their own children she started teaching them. It is not known how she gained her knowledge and it is surmised that her slave owner Mr Wrangham was one of the more open-minded ones who sent the slave children to school. Later Clara opened a school called Clara’s School.

“Lessons included basic literacy and numeracy but also useful handicrafts like needlework and lace making. Clara is the first recorded teacher of lace making on St Helena, though presumably the skill existed prior to her teaching it, passed down from mother to daughter.” You can find her story here on https://sainthelenaisland.info/importantpeople.htm#clarageorge

I value the little lace cloth even more now as I have learnt some of the history that it carries with it. It is evidence that some slaves were sent to school and later freed; and that Clara had the vision to open a school. I am proud of her initiative as I am proud of any victim’s initiative. I feel that something truly precious has been imparted to me through the lace and the exploration of it’s history– that ‘something’ imparted to me holds my humility and the regret of the wrong doing. I will preserve this new knowledge in my heart always.

I am not a trained professional dealing with trauma and violence but as a fellow human being I believe that slavery is a trauma and like any trauma it should not have been experienced. It is an injustice. The experiences of trauma are passed from one generation to the next. It is not something that is forgotten and healing is a difficult and treacherous journey just as with any trauma of domestic violence and family domination. My heart breaks for victims of any kind.

You will have to continue on my journey with me to find out why my mother said fearfully: ‘We don’t talk about it because there might be ‘mixed blood’ (mixed race).

It is not a simple state of affairs.

This is part of my first draft of Discovering my Ancestry, Morag Noffke