September 21-22, 2019: Traveling

After my flight from California landed in Salt Lake City, I had a 2-1/2 hour layover. Then I boarded the red-eye to Heathrow. We arrived about 11:00 a.m. on the 22nd. Jet-lagged and bleary-eyed, I checked into my Bloomsbury hotel—too drained for more than a foggy scout for supper. 

I had been in London earlier in the year, to do some research into the life of the British Army officer who inspired my latest book project. Although I had spent many hours at the National Archives and the British Library, I also got a lot out of strolling through the neighborhoods that the soldier frequented. 

September 23, 2019: 18th-Century Footsteps

It was inspiring to retrace the footsteps of the man I was writing about. Once again, I went to see his house near Green Park. It was a short distance from St. James’s Palace, where he served as a courtier to the Prince of Wales. I turned into St. James’s Park and made my way to the Horse Guards Parade, where he proudly drilled with his regiment. From there, I merged into the Whitehall crowds. Ten minutes later, I reached the Palace of Westminster—where my soldier-turned-MP had debated in the Commons, cast votes, and forged a bond with his idol, Edmund Burke.

Before heading back to Bloomsbury, I went back the way I had come on Whitehall, and continued along that street until I was at Trafalgar Square. I walked up the steps to the National Gallery, then wandered through the halls. Priceless paintings lined the walls. Portraits of his relatives, friends, colleagues—suddenly pulsing with life, as if they’d just stepped out of the frame.

Refreshed by art’s quiet revelations, I braced for the rare books awaiting me tomorrow.

September 24, 2019: Rare Books and a Discovery

While sitting in a reading room at the British Library, I scrolled through the pages of some first editions, learning the history of the regiments the officer had served in, and finding glimpses of some of the men he knew. 

That evening after dinner, I retired to my hotel room, excited about the tour of Buckingham Palace that I was going to take the next day. I had booked the ticket online before I left home. There was a charming tea shop across the street from the British Museum, where I intended to go after visiting the palace. 

Although I needed to get an early start in the morning, I sat for a while in the stiff chair by the small desk along the wall in my room before calling it a night, searching the database of the London Archives. My heart skipped as the soldier’s surname flickered onscreen, tangled with a name from my genealogy chart—like a whisper from across centuries. Tomorrow was shaping up to be a long day. Sleep would have to wait. The archives suddenly held secrets of my own bloodline.

September 25, 2019: Decadence and Dust

I had taken a private tour of Buckingham Palace the previous January. It was exciting to be led around the premises by a guide who had personally met Queen Elizabeth. His descriptions of the beautiful objects and artwork were peppered with insights and entertaining anecdotes. This time I would be on a self-guided tour. It was still exciting just to be behind the walls of the iconic London residence of the British monarch.

At the end of the tour, we were let out through the back of the palace, into the private garden that is adjacent to Green Park. It was beautiful.

I ambled through St. James’s Park and along Whitehall. Although my sense of direction gets skewed in central London, I found my way through the theatre district, and eventually ended up on Great Russell Street. But the tea shop was closed for a private party! Fortunately, I found another one on the next block, where I indulged my love of cream tea. I savored the ritual: warm scones crumbling under clotted cream, tart strawberry jam, and lavender-infused Earl Grey.

The Archives was about a mile away. It was in a part of London I had never been to, so I was a little nervous, when I set off on my walk. To my relief, the journey was uneventful. When I got to the building, I was a little surprised at how low-rent it appeared. Like the National Archives and British Library, it is a postwar structure. But unlike them, it is a strictly utilitarian edifice, constructed of brick and glass. 

There was nothing on the interior to write home about either. But I put in my request for the documents I wanted to review, and waited patiently while the files were being retrieved. After a few minutes, I was handed two dusty, gray boxes. One of them held a book of 18th century property insurance policies. The other held a 19th-century mortgage document regarding a land transfer in Ireland.

It was the mortgage document that piqued my curiosity. Although I worked in the mortgage industry, I know nothing about British practices in this area. The document I was reviewing was drawn up in 1860. As it turned out, when the soldier died, his extensive landholdings in Ireland were passed on to his brother. His brother died several years later and left everything to his son. Apparently, this nephew of the soldier needed money and was selling the mortgage on those lands to raise capital. 

The transaction involved several parties—arcane to my modern eyes and laced with names that hinted at shadowed alliances long buried. But two stood out: descendants of a woman from a distant twig on my family tree. 

London had given me echoes of a soldier’s life—and a riddle woven into my own.

Have you chased a family ghost through archives? Share below!