Theories of relativity

I've been on one of the most peculiar genealogical journeys I've experienced thus far.

And that's saying something.  Both the Resident Fan Boy and I have weird family histories.  (I've long suspected that there are no other kind, not if you're doing your research properly.)

This latest family foray began innocently enough.

John Reid, in his blog Anglo-Celtic Connections, regularly reports when newspapers become available at FindMyPast, and some months back, one of these periodicals was from Norwood, in Surrey (now Greater London, I think), where the Resident Fan Boy's paternal ancestors dwelt in the 19th century.

So I started a search, but couldn't find entries for the surname of those particular ancestors.  Instead, I found a item in the Herne Bay Press, about the 1930 funeral of one of the RFB's great-aunts, under her married surname, of course.  She'd lived and died in Herne Bay, Kent, but was being buried, like many of her family members, in West Norwood Cemetery. It was one of those goldmine genealogical finds: supplying a long list of mourners, saying who sent flowers, and giving a hint of which family members may have been speaking to each other, in the aftermath of a family scandal.

As usual, this led to a happy couple of hours finding new records, and updating profiles.  

To my astonishment, I found the said great-aunt's death certificate, posted by a new and unfamiliar account.  

I flatter myself as being a family researcher of some experience, so I did searches of birth registrations and British business profiles, and finally identified the account as being connected to a first cousin once removed of the Resident Fan Boy.  It turned out her husband's business was a sixteen-minute stroll from where elder daughter had been living in South Wimbledon a couple of years ago.  (I'd had this cousin's father married to the wrong woman, so she was utterly new to me.)

Delighted by the discovery and the closeness of the connection, I told the Resident Fan Boy all about it that evening, and he was politely interested -- after I'd hauled out a couple of graphs to show him how he was related.

I had no immediate plans to contact this relative, but it was taken out of my hands the very next morning, with a text from elder daughter:  "Should I respond to this?"

"This" was a message via FaceBook Messenger.  It was the very cousin I had just identified!

I was startled, to say the least, and puzzled.  Why was this cousin reaching out to my daughter, and, how on earth had she identified and found her?  My tree is private, and my daughters' information doesn't appear on it, anyway.

However, I had carefully tracked this person's lineage, and she was exactly who she said she was, so I reassured elder daughter, told her how she was related, and gave her permission to pass on my email address.

Elder Daughter's Rare Paternal Cousin (or EDRPC, until I can think of something catchier) got in touch very quickly, and revealed the remarkable (and frankly terrifying ) ricochet of logic that had led her discovery of her second cousin. 

Not seeing any descendants for my late father-in-law nor his brother - Ancestry doesn't show living people, thank goodness - she did a google search and found an independent site -- with all our names...

There's a reason for this.  Years ago, when still a newby genealogist, I encountered a Texan online, who was researching one of the distaff branches of the Resident Fan Boy's family.  She was something like an eighth cousin. 

Being a novice, I didn't recognise the tell-tale signs of a rabid and ruthless researcher, and we exchanged details.  I didn't quite grasp at the time that one never shares details of living people without careful vetting.  Too late, I asked her politely to not publish or share the information I'd given in a family report I'd forwarded to her.  She got quite huffy, saying that, in all her years of researching, she'd never received such a request. 

It was only some years later that I stumbled across her "freepage" - with the FULL NAMES (sorry, am I screaming?) of my husband, children, and, worst of all, my living in-laws.  the Texan lady had appended an utterly pointless "information reheld" in brackets after each name. I was livid and wildly embarrassed, but there was little I could do, but learn from the experience. 

The EDRPC also found the page I had created for my late-father-in-law's dad at the Imperial War Museum, recognising my name, then she stumbled across the Resident Fan Boy's uncle's obituary, where both the RFB and I had left our condolences, which further confirmed our names and relationship.  

So she entered the RFB's name into the search engine with the keyword "Canada", and up came the pièce-de-risistance-is-useless:  a news item from his church, featuring not only our names, our neighbourhood, and the location of our daughters, but the name and breed of our cat!

All this, the EDRPC told me, made me think it was very likely to be all of you.

(No kidding, cuz.)

Social platforms led her to a likely variation on elder daughter's name, including being about the right age, and a Canadian living in London.  So she sent out feelers to elder daughter.

"Isn't it amazing/terrifying the details you can track on the internet!" the EDRPC messaged me brightly.

Of course, she's lovely.  Nearly all our relatives are.

We exchanged all sorts of family photos and greetings on holidays.  She's delighted to finally have some cousins, a rare commodity on her side of the family. Furthermore, while tidying up my research to share with her - which she has firmly pledged not to publicise - I discovered a possible key to yet another longtime family mystery.

But I'm not posting that here.  I'm still clinging to some of my illusions and delusions of online privacy.