This book, The Woman From Bessarabia, was written by my great-granduncle (the brother of my great grandfather). It was gifted by Maurice, the author, to my grandmother and grandfather as a gift and has since been passed down to my mother, and eventually, I hope it will be given to me. Written as an autobiography, the book tells the story of my great-granduncle’s life and offers a raw insight into my family’s history.

My mother’s side of the family is Eastern-European-Jewish. I was lucky to grow up with a very close relationship with my grandparents. I would see them regularly and whilst we were not a practicing religious family, we would still get together on the major Jewish holidays such as Rosh Hashanah, Passover, and Channukah to celebrate with one another. As I have not been raised observing Judaism, I found reading my great-granduncle’s story interesting and insightful.

My great-granduncle’s side of the family was originally from Bessarabia, a country which was under Russian rule but now resides in modern-day Moldova. My great-granduncle was born in Kishinev, the then capital of Bessarabia which stood on the border of Russia and Rumania. He described it as the worst place in the world for Jews before Hitler came to power because of the pogroms which occurred. Pogrom is a Russian term historically used to describe violent attacks carried out by non-Jewish people on the Jewish community in the Russian empire. It was because of these pogroms that my family was displaced from Bessarabia and forced to leave their home. They wandered across Europe, without a passport or any money, the only languages they spoke were Russian and Yiddish (the language spoken by Eastern European Jews). Eventually they settled in Paris for several years before moving to London.

The book goes on to document the rest of my great-granduncle’s life, from falling in love to the death of his parents. However, for me, it is the first chapter which I find so interesting and historically significant. Having been born and raised in London, never privy to the atrocities of anti-semitism, I believe it important and necessary that I educate myself on my family’s history and the lengths they went through for me to live comfortably today as well as to attempt to understand the magnitude of the horrors historically committed against the Jewish community.

I have to say it does feel quite strange reading a piece of history and making the mental connection that this is actually my history. My book of choice does tend to be fiction, although I do read non-fiction from time to time. However, reading this non-fiction book was unlike any other I’ve read before as it is, in essence, a part of my life’s story.

I feel lucky to have such an important piece of my family’s history recorded and so beautifully written and I definitely intende to pass it down to future generations so that they can read a first-hand account of their family’s history.

-Anais Pedron

This truncheon was issued to my great grandfather, Horace Blundell, during his time as part of Birmingham’s Home Guard in World War Two. In speaking with mum, I discovered that part of the Home Guard’s job had been to try and stop looting during air raids and the truncheon was often their only form of defence.

Horace was very fit due to his job as a carpenter which required a lot of manual labour and this, combined with his hard, working-class Lancashire background, meant that he was a real force to be reckoned with. My nan said that he had definitely used the truncheon on looters several times and I can only imagine how that must have gone if he was as tough as mum says.

When the Home Guard weren’t using their truncheons to stop looters they were using them to smash through glass and other materials in order to help rescue people who had been trapped due to bombing. This would have appealed to Horace a lot, mum says, because he was so determined to help with the war effort and so being able to do something that meaningful meant a lot to him.

In fact, mum believes he probably held onto the truncheon because it was a symbol of all that he did for his country. He’d been so frustrated that he couldn’t participate in active service as during WW1 he had been too young and by the time WW2 broke out he was too old so being in the Home Guard was an honour for him.

Mum and I both really love having this tangible connection to something that was not only a major part of history but was also very important to my great grandfather. For Mum, she has said that when I was little and Dad was away a lot she slept with it under her pillow as a bit of a talisman of the past and that brought her a lot of comfort although she’s not entirely sure why.

Not only that but talking about this heirloom opened up a whole new discussion of a man that mum’s always wished I could have met because she loved him so much. This discussion led me to learning far more about him and to looking at more items that we have of his, like paintings he made with poems on the back written for his wife after she died. It’s made me feel so much closer to him, so I am grateful to this project for that.

-Molly Ashmeade

Ever since I was a little girl I would sit on the bed with my mother and look at mom and nan’s jewellery. I loved looking at the pieces so much and I loved hearing the stories that went with some of the pieces.  I had also loved one particular piece from the late 1940’s or early 1950’s. A white, fake pearl necklace with a silver metal clasp at the back, kept in a red velvet necklace box.

My nan wore the piece when she married my granddad in October 1963 and my mom wore the piece when she married my dad in June 1994. My mom has said that I can wear the piece when I get married in august this year.  I am thrilled that I will be able to wear the same piece that both my nan and my mom wore on such an important day.

The story of the necklace that my mom has always told me is that the necklace was a gift for my great grandmother from my great-grandmother to mark the end of WW2, I have also heard from my mom that maybe that is just a story my nan was told my great grandmother and that possibly she brought the piece for my nan as a gift. We are not entirely sure on the full story of the necklace but all the same I have always loved the piece and I like ether story that goes with the necklace.

Even without a full understanding on when the piece was purchased and for what purpose, there is a strong history in the piece being worn for weddings, which is definitely true as you can clearly see the necklace around the necks of my mom and nan in the wedding pictures. I hope that if I ever have children, that if I have a girl, she too will want to wear the necklace.

-Charis Gambon

This delicate pocket watch is intricately linked to my family’s history. Crafted in the 1890s, the watch features shades of yellow, rose, green and blue gold. It was worn by my great-grandmother, Mimi, and previously belonged to her mother, Mary.

Mary was born in New York City in 1874, the daughter of two Irish immigrants. In 1895, she married a man named Robinson. They had two children: Mimi and her older brother, Raymond. In 1918, Raymond was tragically killed in the line of duty in World War I. Mary passed away shortly after, at the age of 45. Mimi was only 21 years old.

Throughout her life, Mimi dearly cherished her mother’s pocket watch. However, the watch itself had stopped working and it was too expensive to repair. She felt that if she replaced it with a modern timepiece, it would no longer be her mother’s watch. Instead, she had the watch sealed and converted into a brooch. Mimi wore it frequently for special occasions, pinned to her coat or lapel.

When my aunt was a little girl, she used to love to play in Mimi’s giant jewelry box. She remembers that the pocket watch was kept on the top shelf, in its own special place. (She even wore it a few times herself!)

Although I was never able to meet Mary or Mimi, their story is passed down through this beautiful pocket watch. It is truly a family heirloom.

– Summer L.

I will always remember the times I used to run into my grandparent’s bedroom on the eve of Chinese New Year. Often racing against my cousins to sit on a chair in front of a small table by my grandmother’s bedside. A little place that I liked to call my favourite spot. The wooden table itself was not big in size, and was often occupied by a covered object that took up most of the tablespace in the middle. But that was never a matter to me, for my favourite thing about the spot was the little pedal beneath the desk that I liked to spin.

It would only be a few years later when I learnt that the desk itself was actually a sewing machine cabinet in its entirety. An old Speeder model, estimated to have been manufactured over sixty years ago. I have not been able to identify the exact year it was made so far, because much to my great surprise, the brand ‘Speeder’ does not seem to exist at all. Nor does its company.

I understand that it had before belonged to my great-grandmother, and was something that she had gifted to my grandmother when she got married in the 1950s. From the stories my father would tell me, it was an item my grandmother had relied on a lot during his childhood, often using it to make and mend clothing for her family.

After my grandmother had passed, my uncle had asked if I wanted it. I seemed to be the only person in the family who had shown an interest in keeping it, and had happily accepted the item as my own. My father had been curious to know why I wanted it as the antique itself needed to be repaired before it was ready to be used again. To his question, I had simply answered, “Why not?”

To me, this sewing machine was a piece of our family’s history. Having survived and remained in the family for four generations, it was an irreplaceable heirloom. Something that I wanted to hold onto, as I hope to one day be able to date the antique and maybe even use it myself to sew. And who knows, perhaps in the future, I may even pass it on for the next generation to come! Passing on the memories.

-Janice Yap

My family does not have any heirlooms that have been with us for generations, at least not ones I am aware of and can get the full story for. However, my mother has plenty of heirlooms given to her by her mother and two grandmothers over the years. One set of these heirlooms had particular special meaning for her because they came from her father’s mother, who, although she was not as close to my mother as some of her other grandchildren, was able to give her a gift representative of a vital aspect of my mother’s personality; her love of reading. 

My mother usually borrowed books from her grandmother every time she visited her, and it was a special tradition between the two that only they shared. Nobody else in my mother’s immediate family shared books with her or bought her books to read on a regular basis, which is unfortunate considering my mother’s love of reading since she was a little girl. Emilie Loring was a particular favorite author of her grandmother’s and she often loaned my mother that author’s books because of this. My mother enjoyed them and continued to borrow them up until her grandmother died when she was starting high school. The Emilie Loring novels pictured with this blog post are the last ones my mother borrowed from her grandmother before she died, and consequently were never given back to their original owner. Mom keeps them in our library downstairs and plans to read them again soon. 

This story is important to me because it represents a common thread connecting some of the women in my family, which is a reading hobby. I have mentioned this before in other posts, but thanks to my mother, I have loved reading since I was able to learn to do it. I read the entire Harry Potter series between third and fifth grade, and I read as much historical fiction about girls from the past as I could (some favorites were the Royal Diaries books by multiple authors and the American Girl novels by multiple authors). I even read several of the Emilie Loring novels my mother has in the basement back when I was in middle school and high school. Therefore, not only are these books important for my great grandmother and my mother’s childhood, but also my own girlhood. This passing of books from one female generation to the next in my family represents a bond between my mother and I and my great grandmother as well. Eventually, I hope to pass these books, along with many others, on to my own child.

– Elizabeth Bailey

This signed photo of The Beatles was given to mum when she was a teenager by her grandmother in the 1980s. Her grandmother had found the photograph in a book while working in a charity shop. My mum was a huge fan of The Beatles as a girl and has treasured the photograph ever since. It still sits proudly on her sideboard to this day.

What I really love about this object is the different ways in which it is timeless. Most obviously it is a photograph of a band who are themselves timeless. My mum loved The Beatles in the 1980s, twenty years after they were at the height of their fame and my parents still listed to them as I grew up decades later. Another thing about the photograph that is so timeless is what it represents. Teenage infatuation with celebrities or fictional characters is something I think many girls and women can relate to. Often female teenage desire is trivialised and labelled as ‘hysterical’. In fact, it was around the 1960s when bands such as The Beatles became popular that the stereotype of the hysterical teenage fan came about. Conflating girl’s desire and interest with hysteria and frivolity belittles their passions. This idea that girls’ passions are frivolous still permeates Western culture today.

What I like about this picture is that my grandmother knew my mum would love it because she knew my mum loved The Beatles. She didn’t think it was silly for my mum to love The Beatles and instead she wanted to engage with my mums’ interest. The fact that this image still sits on display in my mum’s house (all these years after her infatuation with The Beatles has melted away) shows that respecting girls’ interests can have a lasting impact. To me this object is a symbol of the importance of allowing girls to be passionate about things without labelling them as frivolous. It makes me happy every time I look at it to think of my mum overjoyed as a young teenager to have received this gift that was buried in a book, found by her grandmother and lovingly given to her. My mum has always encouraged all my interests however silly they might have seemed. If you raise girls to feel that their interests are valid, they will grow up unafraid to be passionate and that is what this object represents to me.

– Asha Hall-Jones

My mother received this pillow case from her grandmother in 1981, when she was around 10 years old. I remember when I first saw it, I was amazed at how beautiful and detailed these patterns are. I learned that my great-grandmother sewed these herself. For her generation, all girls know how to sew since they were young.

My mother was raised by her grandmother in the Chinese countryside, her parents were too busy to raise another child at the time, so she was sent to my grandmother when she was only months old. Growing up in the countryside, my mother had a happy and carefree childhood. She was very close with her grandmother. Over the years, she often recounts her childhood memories to me as one of the happiest times in her life.

When my mother turned 10 years old, her grandmother twisted her feet accidently, therefore unable to continue taking care of my mother. She had to returned home to her parents in the city.

My great grandmother sewed this pillow case for my mother when she was leaving. My mother never used it. She carefully saved it and cherished it until today.

-Mengshu Ye

This brass rubbing is one of three that my grandmother rubbed herself during my families time living in England almost 50 years ago. This rubbing of an unknown lady was done in the 1970s before the Westminster Abbey disallowed people to do rub their own pieces inside. My grandmother never told us who this brass rubbing was of, but she did always mention the lady’s funny hat, which I suspect is probably why my grandmother chose her.

My grandmother brought these back to Texas with her and unfortunately had them sitting in her house, rolled up, until after her death. She always wanted them framed and hung and talked about them often. When my mother inherited them, she asked me to get them matted and framed for better preservation. They have been hanging in my parents home ever since.

I absolutely love these rubbings and the story behind them. My grandmother loved history as much as I do, especially the odd and quirky history, so I can easily imagine my wily grandmother rubbing away at these, making jokes, and laughing. And it makes me smile.

— Ashley Winder, Texas, USA

When Sarah McFarlane left Scotland in September 1884, she had just turned 16. Sailing on the Lady Jocelyn with her parents and 13-year-old sister, Joan, Sarah was bound for a new life in Auckland, New Zealand. On such a significant personal journey, Sarah carried with her a small book titled the Royal Birthday Book. With an emerald-green cloth cover, golden embossing, and gilt edges, this tiny book is lavish: fit for its proclaimed royal status.

There are 20 handwritten names inscribed in the birthday book, including the names of Sarah’s five sisters, her aunts and uncles, and a few friends—both from Scotland and New Zealand. Sarah is my Great-Great-Aunt, and her book has travelled down through the generations to land in my care. I was intrigued by the inscription on the front page:

”With best wishes to Sarah McFarlane from her loving companion, Maggie McConachie, 22nd Sept 1884.’ So I set out to solve the mystery: Who was Maggie McConachie?

After much research, I finally found her. Margaret (Maggie) McConachie was only a few months younger than Sarah McFarlane. From at least 1881, Sarah and Maggie both lived in the same housing block, at 13 Antigua Street, Renfrewshire. As an only child living with her widowed moth, Maggie likely gravitated towards the large McFarlane clan with their six daughters, and particularly to Sarah, who was the same age. The Royal Birthday Book was a parting gift between girlhood friends. Three days after Maggie inscribed the Royal Birthday Book, Sarah set sail for Auckland—never to return to Scotland. Maggie remained in Renfrewshire, eventually going on to study music.

The two friends likely did not see each other again, but the strength of their friendship endures in the beautiful Royal Birthday Book. I am lucky to have such an heirloom that shows how far gifts of friendship can travel.

– Rosalie E.