It Was the First Day of Census...

          It was the first day of census, and all through the land 
          each pollster was ready.... a black book in hand. 
          He mounted his horse for a long dusty ride, 
          his book and some quills were tucked close by his side, 
          towards the smell of fresh bread wafting, up through the air. 

          The woman was tired, with lines on her face 
          and wisps of brown hair she tucked back in place. 
          She gave him some water... as they sat at the table 
          and she answered his questions..... the best she was able. 
          He asked her of children, Yes, she had quite a few 
          the oldest was twenty, the yougest not two. 

          She held up a toddler with cheeks round and red, 
          his sister, she whispered, was napping in bed. 
          She noted each person who lived there with pride, 
          and she felt the faint stirrings of the wee ones inside. 
          He noted the sex, the colour, the age.... 
          the marks from the quill soon filled up the page. 
          At the number of children, she nodded her head 
          and saw her lips quiver for the three that were dead. 
          The places of birth she "never forgot", 
          was it Salford? or Manchester, or Liverpool.... or not? 
          They came from Scotland, of that she was clear, 
          but she wasn't quite sure just how long they'd been here. 

          They spoke of employment, of schooling and such, 
          they could read some and write some though really not much. 
          When the questions were answered, his job there was done 
          so he mounted his horse and rode towards the sun. 
          We can almost imagine his voice loud and clear 
          "May God Bless you all for another ten years". 

          Now picture a time warp..... it's now you and me, 
          as we search for the people on our family tree. 
          We squint at the census and scroll down so slow, 
          as we search for that entry from long, long ago. 
          Could they only imagine on that long ago day 
          that the entries they made would effect us this way? 

          If they knew, would they wonder at the yearning we feel, 
          and the searching that makes them so increasingly real. 
          We can hear if we listen the words they impart 
          through their blood in our veins and their voice in our heart. 

          Author Unknown
         
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This page created 2 January 2006    
& amended 10:26 17/02/2019