The Family Tree

Posted: August 1, 2015 in Family Fortunes - Love A Bit Of Les Dennis, One More For Love

216-11

I am sitting in silence. Beauty is in a little office with a little woman being asked some little questions. Questions that must have got a lot bigger. Because Beauty has been in there for nearly half an hour, as I sit outside wondering what’s happening. We are at the registry office, booking our legal wedding ceremony before we have a Christian wedding in a posh mansion. We’ve been showing ID, and I’ve been asked to leave while Beauty answers questions. My eye is drawn to a sign announcing that ‘forced marriage is illegal’, and instantly I know. Beauty is being asked if I am forcing her to marry me.

And I kind of am.

No woman could turn down this jelly.

I notice a snazzy laminated poster also on the wall with a note saying ‘out of stock’. It is a posh family tree scroll on large paper. And it’s pretty ace. It gets me thinking. I’ve done family trees before, but never gone beyond My Brother or Mom and Dad. I’ve heard that euro-grandad Opa has done some family tree work, and it might be cool to look into it myself. Especially as Beauty will soon be getting her own branch.

Score.

 –

It is later, and I am with Dad in a disco. I am asking about the families of his parents as Dad lists lots of German names, explains how I actually am 1/16th Italian and tells me about how there’s always been a member of our family called Fred.

I am grateful.

“That’s ace, Dad, thanks. D’you know? It’d be really interesting to go even further back and see who we’re related to. Housemate That Never Was Dan Mac was telling me this amazing story about his Irish ancestors causing trouble. We could be anything. We could be punjabi. Or the mafia.”
Dad smiles.

“Well, Dan. You do know who you’re related to, don’t you?”

I pause.

And turn to look at him.

What?

“What?”

“Yeah.”

WHAT?

“WHAT?”

Dad smiles even more.

“Am I related to someone famous?”

“Yeah.”

He’s loving this.

“….WHO?”

“Nelson.”

I stare at him. Uncertain. I don’t think I’m related to Nelson Mandela. Or Nelson Muntz. Dad coughs.

“Admiral Nelson.”

“Admiral Nelson?”

Dad nods.

“As in the guy with the statue at Nelson’s Column?”

“Yes.”

I scan his face. It’s definitely his face.

“Yeah, you remember your Opa did some research into it? Turns out Admiral Nelson had an affair with some woman called Emma. And that’s who we’re related to. Grandma wrote a book about it. The one about Uncle Ernie.”

“Right. So we’re not related to him directly.”

“No. But it’s pretty impressive still.”

It is. So I decide to do what I always do in these situations. I whip out the internet. And realise that my phone cost £20. And has no internet. And ask Dad if his phone has the internet. It does.

We Nelson.

And quickly learn that Emma was the daughter of Admiral Nelson after an affair with then-Jennifer Lawrence Lady Hamilton. Emma had a daughter called Horatia, who had many children, and that’s where the line ended.

“So we actually are related to Admiral Nelson.”

Dad smiles, and I text Beauty.

She’s marrying into nobility.

Score.

 –

It is a few months later, and I have finished my Admiral Nelson phase. Beauty’s Mom has told Beauty to expect me to turn up at the door with the Nelson hat on. I like the idea. I mean, I am British military greatness. I am on the way to Grandma and Opa’s to borrow a fridge-freezer for our exciting marriage flat when I call Grandma to give her our ETA. And a thought occurs to me.

“Say, Grandma?”

“Yes?”

“Do you have a copy of Uncle Ernie’s book?”

“I should think so, yes. Why do you ask?”

“I want to check out the link to Admiral Nelson. Dad said that book went into the details.”

Grandma is silent for a second.

“Well, it’s not actually mentioned in the book anywhere.”

“What?”

“No. I was doing some research and found that there was a Hamilton somewhere down the line.”
“Right.”

“Yes, and I also heard that someone in our family was born on a boat, so I just sort of pieced it together.”

Gutted.

“So, there’s no definitive proof whatsoever.”

“Well. No.”

Oh.

I sigh.

And tell Beauty she’s marrying a commoner. I’m nothing.

I’M NOT EVEN NEIL BUCHANAN!

“Ah, don’t worry, love. You’re not nothing.”

I turn to her as she takes my hand.

“You’ve got us a fridge-freezer!”

I smile.

“Score.”

Advertisements
Comments
  1. Will says:

    It’s the little things that matter the most in life… 🙂

  2. danielmohr says:

    I still haven’t seen you with that Admiral Nelson’s hat on Dan!

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s