Searching for my ancestry

Thursday July 11^th was a long, exhausting, interesting and emotional day for me. We, Ted (who was our volunteer chauffeur) and Margi, two orienteering friends and Pete and I set off early on our 500 km round trip to Rezekne, 250 kms to the east of Riga and just 60 kms from the border of Russia, to try and find the 100 acre farm which had been owned in turn by my great grandfather, grandfather, and after the death of grandfather (shot by the Russians), my granny and mother.

Not your everyday choice of a destination.

After 250 Kms and 70 years the town is near

Rezekne is a fairly large but shabby, tired looking town. No new and modern buildings here. The population is predominantly Russian and that language is what I mainly heard in the streets. Everything is run down and in need of a good spruce up, but people would rather put food on the table rather than paint on their houses.

Old surviving timber home in Rezekne

A still unrepaired survivor from the invasion.

12th Century Rezekne Castle

I was armed with a photocopy of the original deed of ownership dating back to the late 1800’s, but because the Russians destroyed so many records I didn’t expect to find anything of value. Nevertheless, we asked the lady in the information centre who recommended that the local archive office may be able to provide some information.

But first some brunch, pancakes with a yummy custard filling and topped with lots of fresh fruit, and coffee, when a couple of men walked into the restaurant and sat down at the next table. The deed of ownership was on the table and they spotted it right away, asking whether we were looking for real estate! They said they were from New York (and spoke with John Wayne American/Russian accents) and were looking for retirement properties! Yeah, right…… Pete immediately said they were Russian “spooks”. They took our photos with a mobile phone, and left. Hmmmm……. We are beginning to feel uncomfortable.

At the local archive office a half hour later and after much discussion and a phone call to her sister, the lady we spoke to marked a dot on the map indicating the place my grandfather had owned, and another dot for the cemetery (at the bottom of the street) where he is likely to be buried. The surname of my grandfather’s family apparently is still known by the older generation in that small rural community. Who would have thought?

Out side the Archives where the archivists sister remembers the family

We set off for the short drive down some rough unpaved rural roads, and there it was. The original timber house has probably been rebuilt, but the stone barn still stands, as does the old orchard surrounding it. I picked some flowers and birch leaves from the side of the road and these will be (smuggled into the UK) placed on my granny’s grave in Yorkshire. They’ll be a bit withered by then, but I know that she’ll like them. The Russians  had shot my Grandfather as he tried to milk his cows and forced my Granny and other family off at gunpoint and she had never been able to return.

Home at last.

A view with the remaining orchard and woods at the rear.

A simple posy of road side herb for her Granny’s grave in England.

Ilze’s mum walked this road to go to school

As we turned around to drive back we were faced with a brand new white van which had been following us. It turned around as we approached it and drove away. Unbeknown to us we were in what is referred to as the “border zone”, 50 kms west of the Russian border and they were keeping an eye on us!!! (After more than 45 years’ experience, I know surveillance when I see it. Pete)

We went to have a look at the beautifully kept little cemetery looking for a familiar name but didn’t find one. There were many graves with old anonymous crosses, so some of them may have been my ancestors. No one will ever know.

Off to the small local cemetary

Unnamed. It could be her Grandad.

Traditionally carved wooden cross

On the drive back it rained, a fitting end to a happy/sad day. When we get home I’ll fish out my mother’s old photo albums and together with the photos we took, make a record for my boys. Maybe one day they will be interested in their ancestry.

Ilze

Rezekne at night hoping for better things.