Summer 1966 at 210 North 42 Street. Rapid City.

Summer 1966. Kim was 9. I was 8 My Baptism Year, Kevin was 5,
Janice and Jon were 3 and Jilane was 18 months.

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From the Fortress of Solitude
Overlooking the Valley of the Pleasant Grove

Hello Clan,
Our family moved from 38 East Signal Drive to the South Canyon neighborhood of Rapid City in 1965. We rented a home at 210 North 42nd. Street. It was sad leaving Signal Heights but South Canyon opened new opportunities for a young family.

I remember the day this picture was taken. The photographer worked out of his car. He knocked on the door and offer a picture package if mother was interested. She said yes. He brought in his equipment. While he set up we rushed through the house getting into our church clothes. You'll notice I'm wearing something nicer than that last picture of 'anything that buttons or snaps is a go'. I was 8 and either just baptised or about to be.

Now, this may well be one of the only pictures in existence of Jon not acting stupid. It was a miracle and as soon as the flash ignited Mom knew she had a masterpiece. I'm sorry to see the picture has degraded over the years but now it is digitized and protected for ever. In this picture I apologize for Janice. Notice she doesn't know what to do with her hands. Secondly - the tongue. She had an adult tongue in her small head. It was so big she couldn't keep it inside her mouth. It was sticking out all the time. We teased her about it relentlessly. I'm surprise she isn't traumatized about it today.

The six of us were very close. The three boys shared a basement bedroom, so did the three girls. The upstairs had a kitchen, living room, a small master bedroom for mom and dad and another bedroom we called the TV room. That's where we went to watch TV. I remember our favorite shows were Bewitched, Green Acres, The Andy Griffth Show, The Wild Wild West and of course Johnny Quest.

We attended South Canyon Elementary School. Kim's best friend lived across the street. Her name was Pandora. When our chores were finished we'd ride our bikes to a wooded area with watered by a small creek we called Monkey Village. We swung from trees, had forts and general just played and hung out all hours, only going home to eat and bed. We also lived close to the hills and spent hours hiking and exploring. live was different then. Much simpler.

STORY BOOK ISLAND

Jilane at Story Book Island

Here we are a few years later. Jilane is older now. We're at Story Book Island. Remember visiting Story Book Island during the family reunion a couple years ago? We went there a lot as kids for two reasons: 1. It was fun and 2. IT WAS FREE!

Jon at Story Book Island

Jon looks to be about 5 in this picture. Jon was the most loving outgoing kid. He embarrassed me all the time. Where ever we went he'd walk up to total strangers and introduce himself and start a conversation. Never a fear never a worry. He talked and laughed and talked and laughed. Oh, I should add, he did all of that when he wasn't tripping. The kid was a danger to himself. He was always tripping and falling forward - right onto his face. We always used to say how lucky he was to have a pug nose.

Driving Miss Luella. My Afternoon Giving Mother Parking Lessons!

Yes, I know this isn't Mother but it Sure Comes Close to What
I Saw and Experienced Last Sunday. You All Owe Me Big Time!

Last Sunday morning I was home enjoying an exceptional view of the valley. The sky was crisp blue and the air was clean, a real treat considering the muck we’ve had to breath for the last several weeks.
“Victor!” mother called from the door leading to my home's basement apartment. She was using her “I’m going to ask you to do something so I’ll use my kind, less shrill” voice.
“Yes,” I hesitated in responding. She knew I was home so remaining silent wouldn’t be wise. It would only result in a personal visit up the stairs.
“Would you take me driving so I can practice parallel parking?”
I let her words hang in the air until the shock of their meaning dissipated to the point where I could respond. My mind went through thousands of calculations in an attempt to rearrange the universe in such a way that I could get out of doing it without disappointing her. I opened my mouth to lie....
“Yes, I’ll take you,” I said. I don’t knew where those words came from. I suspect guilt planted them into my head. She needed help and I was home. It was a son’s duty. I also realized that her chances of passing the parallel parking part of the driving test were as good as dad ever saying “I’m tired of working. I’m going tot take the rest of my life off.”
“Let’s go,” she shouted. Her excitement reminded me of a dog circling and yapping in delight after realizing he’s about to get to ride in the back of the pickup truck for a trip into town.

I fell to my knees realizing the mortal danger I’d put myself into. I prayed, using my own made up prayer; afterwards, thinking my own prayer for safety wouldn’t be enough, I went online and did a quick Google search for “Prayers for Driving Instructors”. I found a good one, fell again to my knees and recited it word for word. I heard her ascending the steps. I closed my computer, put on my coat went into the kitchen, opened my desk, and searched for my amulets. I found my Rabbit’s foot and plastic Buddha. I couldn’t find my Star of David but felt it would be OK considering we doing this on a Sunday, and Sunday wasn’t the Jewish Sabbath. I put the two items in my coat pockets and turned to select a cross necklace from the many hanging around the wooden banister separating my kitchen and living room. They were sent to me by dozens of Catholic charity searching for donations. Sheezzzz, I gave a couple bucks to a Catholic homeless shelter for teens in New York City and Presto... my name is spread to every Catholic charity world wide. I selected the cross sent by the Sister of Ever Increasing Hope, put it around my neck and walked out to the garage to meet her.

“Get in,” she said. She was sitting in the driver’s seat of her Titanic sized Lincoln Town Car. I got in. She backed out of the Garage without hitting anything. Fortuna was with us I thought. I thought too soon. She didn’t take the driveway at an angle causing the car to scrape against the rise where the driveway and sidewalk meet at a sharp incline. I cringed at the sound of metal on concrete. She didn’t hear or feel it. She was too busy finding the road. She managed to find Drive and we jerked forward.

“How’am I doing?” she said as she leaned forward to rest her chin on the steering wheel - her favored driving position. You see, she has a cataract in her right eye, so she really only sees out of her left. She thinks she has a better view of the road if she leans forward that extra foot and a half. The hood of the Lincoln stretching out several yards doesn’t help. I fastened my seat belt and rubbed the cross around my neck praying to Saint Christopher for deliverance.

I watched her as we rolled down the hill. Her eyes were wide open staring at the road ahead.
“What’s the speed limit,” she shouted nearly sending me out the door. I was clutching the door handle anyway, ready to jump and roll if necessary. You know the old adage, at sea - its every man for himself on a sinking ship.
“Twenty Five,” I shouted back. She slammed on the brake to slow from 18 miles per hour to 12.
“Read this,” she tossed a yellow paper at me containing the notes written by the driving evaluator from her last failed attempt to pass the driving test. He’d written that she wasn’t looking over her shoulder when changing lanes.
“You’re not looking over your shoulder when changing lanes,” I said.
“Where?” she shouted. Her foot found the brake again. A radar gun would have clocked us at 8 miles an hour at that point. She jerked her head left and right looking for something that wasn’t there.
“When you change lanes - you need to look over your shoulder,” I explained.
“Oh..... got it,” she answered. Our speed increased. I looked at the paper again. Down in the bottom corner I found a cross drawn in ink. Below it were these words, “Pray for us now and in the hour of our death Amen.” I recognized them from the Catholic “Hail Mary” prayer.
“Mom, was your last driving evaluator Hispanic?” I asked.
“How did you know?” she answered. I let it go.

We approached the traffic light at the bottom of the road on 1100 North. She was going to merge to the left to get into the turning lane. She braked, then spun her head violently to the left to check for cars creeping up beside her. Then, to my surprise, she spun her head to the right to check for cars. We stopped on the red. We waited. Her hands clutched the wheel. My hands clutched the dashboard. The light turned green. We didn’t move. Yes, she saw the green but was busy looking to the left and right for oncoming cars.
“Go?” she shouted out the question, unsure of herself.
“Yes, its green?”
“So Go?”
“Yes.. GO!” And go she went, pedal to the medal. I believe the Lincoln rolled up on its right two tires on that corner.
“God help us,” I mumbled.
“WHERE?” she shouted. Her foot found the brake again.
“Keep going,” I said loud enough for her to hear.

A quarter mile down the road we came to the school crossing zone.
“School Zone,” she said. “They’ll get me if I don’t slow down.” We slowed.
“Mother, its Sunday. There is no school.”
“Does it matter?” she asked.
“Slow down only if there are children present or if the yellow lights are flashing.” I reminder her.

“That’s were Judy lives. She’s my friend,” she said as we passed the large house next to the cemetery.
“Who drives when you and Judy go out?” I asked.
“Judy drives,” she replied.
Yes, I was right. I knew Judy would be the designated driver. Would you let an old lady with one good eye and paranoid of everything else on the road drive you anywhere?

We got to the light on Center Street. She was going to turn right. Again, she cranked her head to the left and right before signalling the turn and moving into the right turning lane.
“Why are you looking over your left shoulder when you’re making a right hand turn?” I asked.
“You said the instructor wrote that I needed to look over my shoulder when changing lanes. Did he write that or not?” she asked a bit perturbed.
“Ma, look over your shoulder at the lane you’re moving into to check for traffic, not at the lane you’re moving out of,” I explained.
“Well make up your mind,” she shot back.

The rest of the way to the driving range was filled with the same. She cranked her head to the left and to the right all the way down the road, at every intersection, at every stop sign and every time she changed lanes no matter what direction she was turning.

We managed to get to the driving range alive. She pulled up to the tall cone markers marking the place where parallel parking was tested.
“This is where I keep failing,” she hissed as we pulled up to the front two cones marking where the back bumper of a parked car would be. Behind us stood two taller cones marking where the front bumper of another parked car would be.
“I’ve got to get this car in there,” she said point to the small open space between the two sets of several orange cones stacked on on top of the other.

“OK, let’s do this,” I said. Hoping for the best. For the next ten minutes she maneuvered the car. First forward, then she would check the position of the front cones. Then backward and rechecking the positions of the cones. She was looking for some magical sweet spot that would guarantee a perfect park. I urged her to just “Do it already”. She bit her bottom lip, cranked the wheel and hit the gas.

We stopped after the back right tire went up and over the curb.
“Damn it,” she mumbled as she shifted from reverse into drive and peeled forward out into the driving lane and into the parking lot. She turned hard left, circling around, passing the parking test point into the opposite parking lot. She made another hard left and pulled back into position to try it all over again. I’ll call that her classic Circle 8 maneuver.

She tried again. Success! We didn’t climb the curb. We also didn’t parallel park. We ended up half in the parking place and half into the road.
“Damn it,” she mumbled and stepped onto the gas. Another classic Circle 8 maneuver.
The next time I talked and talked and talked her through the parking. We moved slowly an inch at a time. It was nearly a success. We did another circle 8 to reposition the car for another attempt.

By this time I was getting car sick with all the circle 8’s. We were into it 20 minutes and I had to get out or I’d loose my lunch, breakfast and supper from the night before. I got out of the car and stood beside the cones. I talked her through a half dozen attempts. She got the last one right! There were cheers. She was so proud of herself. She insisted she do it again. She got the next half dozen wrong. Her problem was she couldn’t see the cones very well. She also freaked out because the Lincoln had a backing up alarm. Every time she’d get close to the back cones the alarm rang sending her into shock. Thirty minutes into the practice she became desensitized to the alarm.

On the 19th attempt she successfully knocked over the back two cone pillars.
“Damn it,” she mumbled and sped off into another circle 8. On her next attempt she knocked over the front left set of cones. By then I’d had enough. I got in the drivers seat. She stood outside and I parallel parked the car several times so she could see how it was done. Half the time she seemed more interested in the cones than my demonstration. She thought they were lower than the last time she attempted to pass the driving test.

She got in again even more determined to succeed. I remained in the car and tried to teach her to focus more on the mirrors than cranking her head around so much.
“Mirrors! I can’t see the cones in the mirrors!” she shouted.
“Are you telling me that you can’t see the cones in this mirror?” I said pointing to the mirror on the outside of my door.
“Am I suppose to?” she asked. I heard a chuckle from the back seat. I turned, and for a brief thousandth of a second I thought I saw what appeared to be an angel. Her guardian angel. The one she says is there to help with her driving. It was all just too much. I moved the mirror until she saw the cones in their right position.
“Look at that, I can see the cones!” she said happily. After that, she parked nearly perfectly.
She had parallel parking mastered and it only took 90 minutes to do it!

On the way home she got a phone call from my father. I answered it fearing to let her talk on the phone and drive at the same time.
“How many cones did she know over?” he asked from work. My dad works at Walmart. He retired many years ago, has plenty of money but likes to work to keep busy.
“Ask her if she’s going to Walmart today,” he asked.
“If he needs me to go I will,” she replied. I passed the message back to dad.
“Tell her I need my three D’s” he responded. “Do you know what the three D’s are?” he asked.
“No,” I said, and in reality I didn’t care to know.
“Drink, dinner and dessert,” he said. I passed the information to mom and the call ended. I thought for a moment. That entire conversation seemed strange.
“Mom, Dad’s at work. He’s at WalMart. He’s asking you to drive to Walmart to pick up a drink, dinner and dessert. Why? He’s already there. Why doesn’t he do it himself?”
“He thinks it tastes better If I do it?” she answered as she cranked her head back and forth so much I didn’t need the window down for a breeze. Her head was fanning the air enough.

I was never so happy to get home in my life than I did last Sunday. The next day she went in and took her driving test. She passed!
“I passed,” she said when she got home.
“Any problems?” I asked.
“Nope. I got up and had a revelation. I realized the Lincoln was too big so your father and I rented a small compact car for the day and that's what I used for my driving test. I parked that small thing on the first try. Thanks for you help honey!”

"You're welcome. I'm glad you passed. I told you you could do it. I never lost faith," I lied while feeling peeved I spent all that time on Sunday trying to teach her to park that Titanic Lincoln. Now hopefully her license will be valid enough years so I can recover before it all has to be done over again.


Simply,
Victor

A Mystery Solved. Mary Queen of Scots our 1st Cousin (14 Times Removed).

Mary, Queen of Scots. Painted while in Prison

From the Fortress of Solitude
Overlooking the Pleasant Grove

Dispatch to the Clan,

A Mystery Solved,

Every since I was a child I remember Grandma Mattson telling me that we were related to Mary, Queen of Scots. She couldn’t say how, she just knew we were. Today, that mystery is solved. This old family memory, passed from generation to generation is true and today I will explain how.

Our story begins with our 14th Great Grandfather King James IV of Scotland. He fathered our 13th Great Grandmother, the Lady Margaret through his mistress Margaret Drummond. After Margaret died, James IV married the English Princess Maragret Tudor, the sister of the famous Henry VIII. They had a child named James, who later became King James V of Scotland. Therefore Kings James V of Scotland was our 1/2 14th Great Uncle so to speak. From this point on I’ll not use the term 1/2 now that you understand the relationship.

Mary at 13 years old

Mary, Queen of Scots was the daughter of our Great Uncle, James V of Scotland. Therefore, Mary was our 1st cousin 14 times removed. She became Queen of Scotland at the age of six days. She was crowned nine months later.

Mary and Francis

In 1558 she married Francis, the crown prince of France. She was not Queen of France for long. She was widowed in December 1560. Four years later she married her first cousin Henry Stuart. He was murdered by an explosion in 1567. After that she married James Hepburn, who is believed to be the murderer of her 2nd husband Henry Stuart.

Mary with her young son James VI

Mary was forced to abdicate the throne of Scotland in after an uprising. Her one year old son James VI became King of Scotland. After an unsuccessful attempt to regain the throne Mary fled to England to seek protection from her first cousin, Queen Elizabeth I (a distant cousin of ours) whose kingdom she hoped to inherit because, as we all know, Queen Elizabeth (daughter of Henry VIII and Anne Boleyn, Henry’s second wife who was later beheaded by Henry) never married and had no children.

Mry was arrested because of three plots to assassinate Elizabeth. Mary wanted to seize the throne of England and reestablish Catholicism as the religion of the land (remember, Henry VIII created the Church of England and turned England into a Protestant nation). Mary was tried and executed by beheading.

Contemporary sketch of the Execution

Her execution was a gruesome business. She spent the last hours of her life in prayer and also writing letters and her will. She expressed a request that her servants should be released. She also requested that she should be buried in France. The scaffold that was erected in the great hall was three feet tall and draped in black. It was reached by five steps and the only things on it were a disrobing stool, the block, a cushion for her to kneel on, and a bloody butcher's axe that had been previously used on animals. At her execution the executioners (one of whom was named Bull) knelt before her and asked forgiveness. According to a contemporary account, she replied "I forgive you with all my heart.” The executioners and her two servants helped remove a black outer gown, two petticoats, and her corset to reveal a deep red chemise—the liturgical color of martyrdom in the Catholic Church. As she disrobed she smiled faintly to the executioner and said, "Never have I had such assistants to disrobe me, and never have I put off my clothes before such a company." She was then blindfolded and knelt down on the cushion in front of the block. She positioned her head on the block and stretched her arms out behind her.

In Lady Antonia Fraser's biography, Mary Queen of Scots, the author writes that it took two strikes to decapitate Mary: The first blow missed her neck and struck the back of her head, at which point the Queen's lips moved. (Her servants reported they thought she had whispered the words "Sweet Jesus.") The second blow severed the neck, except for a small bit of sinew that the executioner severed by using the axe as a saw. Robert Wynkfield recorded a detailed account of the moments leading up to Mary's execution, also describing that it took two strikes to behead the Queen. Afterward, the executioner held her head aloft and declared, "God save the Queen." At that moment, the auburn tresses in his hand came apart and the head fell to the ground, revealing that Mary had had very short, grey hair.
It has been suggested that it took three strikes to decapitate Mary instead of two, a ritual devised to protract the suffering of the victim.

Mary's Tomb at Westminster Abbey in London

There are several stories told about the execution. One already mentioned and thought to be true is that, when the executioner picked up the severed head to show it to those present, it was discovered that Mary was wearing a wig. The headsman was left holding the wig, while the late queen's head rolled on the floor. Another well-known execution story related in Robert Wynkfield's first-hand account concerns a small dog owned by the queen, which is said to have been hiding among her skirts, unseen by the spectators. Her dress and layers of clothing were so immensely regal, it would have been easy for the tiny pet to have hidden there as she slowly made her way to the scaffold. Following the beheading, the dog refused to be parted from its owner and was covered in blood. It was finally taken away by her ladies-in-waiting and washed.

Simply,
Victor

Our 14th Great Grandmother, Margaret Drummond, Mistress to James IV. Murdered?

James IV King of Scotland. Our 14th Great Grandfather.
Grandma Mattson to her father and along the Pierce Line

A Dispatch from the Fortress of Solitude
To the Clan

Tonight I tell a tale of woe. It is the story of our 14th Great Grandmother Margaret Drummond. She was born in 1475 to John Drummond the 1st Lord Drummond. In 1495 Scotland’s King, James IV (our 14th Great Grandfather) beheld her beauty and sought a relationship. They fell in love. She became his mistress. The King was unmarried at the time. In 1496 she lived in the royal castle at Stirling. Together they had a child named Margaret Stewart, our 13th Great Grandmother.

It is widely believed that James IV secretly married Margaret. There are no pictures of Margaret.

Tragedy

Margaret died of food poisoning in 1501 along with her two sisters Eupheme and Sibylia while staying at their parents’ residence. Normally the fact that someone died of food poisoning during this time in history is common. Standards of food hygiene are unlikely to have been very good then, and cases of accidental food poisoning have happened in any period. However, with three people who presumably died shortly after eating the same meal, the claim of poisoning gains serious merit.

Murder Theories

It is suggested that our Great Grandmother was murdered either by English agents or pro-English elements in the Scottish nobility. If she was married to James IV then her death was necessary in order to allow, or force the King to marry the English princess Margaret Tudor (Henry VIII’s sister). The plaque on her grave in Dunblane Cathedral says she was “privately married” to the King and that she was murdered by Scottish nobles who supported the English marriage.

Dunblane Cathedral

The marriage of James IV and Margaret Tudor brought about the Union of the English and Scottish Crowns 100 years later when their great grandson James VI claimed the English Throne upon the death of Queen Elizabeth I (daughter of Henry VIII).

If James IV and our great grandmother were married then the Union of Crowns might never have taken place and Scotland might have remained an independent country. Of course this is a theory. No one can be sure.

Serious historians doubt she was poisoned, believing the poisoning was an accident.

Our 13th Great Grandmother, Margaret Stewart, now without her mother, was raised at Edinburgh Castle as Lady Margaret. She was supported throughout her life by her father James IV.

Mother and Kevin. October 1961.

Luella Williamson, age 22. Kevin Williamson, age 3 months. October 1961
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From the Fortress of Solitude.

The Lady Luella called me to her chamber this evening. On my orders she fumbled through a file of old pictures looking for tonight's postings. A gleam from her eye brightened the room as she pulled this photo from the file. The original was small, the kind you get from the old photo booths of another era. Remember them, you found them at Kmart, Gibsons and the super markets. You put in two quarters, sat on a spinning stool, looked at a mirror and waited for the flash to take 4 pictures of you. After the pictures, you waited outside the booth for the pictures to drop into the receptacle. All they could afford in those days I'm sure.
"This is my favorite picture of me," mom said smiling as she placed this snapshot into my hands.
"Don't I look a treat?"

I know Kim and I were present when this was taken because there is a a series of pictures of the two of us in the same booth, to be posted another time. I decided to let this picture stand alone, considering it's importance to our old Ma.

Simply,
Victor

And Now, The Mattsons and McCrillus.

From the Fortress of Solitude

Family,
This evening we peer into the past, capturing visions of ancestors long dead. Tonight we meet John Albert Mattson, my Great Grandfather and father of Walter Mattson (Luella's father). He was born August 6, 1873 in Fjaras, Halland Sweden. He is 16 years old in this picture, taken in 1889, the same year South Dakota was made a state. The picture was taken in Scranton PA.

John Albert Mattson. Age 16
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John Albert Mattson. Age Unknown
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This picture is of John Albert and his wife Ida was taken on the Mattson ranch in Montana. They moved from Lead where they owned 5 houses. They sold the houses, bought a homestead in Montana and moved the family. The homestead was one mile from the town Pinele. Our grandfather Walter was 10 years old when they moved. Walter was their only child.

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This was written on the back of the picture. It is written in his own hand in Swedish. I'm guessing it was written to his sister Josephine in Lead.

John Albert Mattson died on May 16, 1955 in Belle Fourche South Dakota.

John Albert came over from Sweden when he was 16 years old. He didn't speak English. His family came over one at a time. One would come and get a job, save money, send the money back to Sweden so another family member could come. His oldest sister was the first to come to America. He saw a fruit pie for the first time in America and thought it was an omelet. He helped in the San Francisco 1906 earthquake recovery. He eventual moved to Lead South Dakota. He met his wife in Lead and that's where they settled.

He moved to Spearfish with mom and the family in 1954. He lived with them until he died. He was 72 when he died of Leukemia.

Also Tonight you are fortunate to meet Isabelle Deanora Helgerson McCrillus. She was Grandma Mattson's Grandmother, my Great Great Grandmother. She was born in 1851 in Vermont and died the day after Christmas in 1896. The McCrillus line is where we trace most of our royal blood all channeled into your bloodstream by Great Great Grandmother D. Bell (as she was known).

She was married before to a Helgerson. Later she married John Dennis, mom's Great Grandfather. He worked on the Salt Lake Tabernacle.

Now, we end for the evening. There will be more to come.

Simply,
Victor

Janice and Jon Join the Williamson Family. 1963

Hello Family,
This picture was taken in 1963 just after Jon and Janice were born. Kim was 6 years old. I was 5 and Kevin was 3. This picture was taken at our home at 39 East Signal Drive, Rapid City. We just came home from church. Notice how nicely Kim and Kevin are dressed. Now notice what I'm wearing. Yea, let's let the 5 year old wear whatever. How typical. Its the story of my life - always getting the shaft. Ah, give him whatever, it doesn't have to match and who cares if the shirt doesn't even fit! :)

Mom was 26 years old with five children when this picture was taken. No one gave mom a baby shower for Jon and Jan so she had to make do with two outfits apiece, at least for awhile. One outfit was in the wash while the other was on their backs.

I predicted the birth of twins before anyone else, including the doctor. I also predicted they would be a boy and girl. I had unique powers of observation even at the young age of 5. I mean how hard was it to see that mother looked like she had swallowed several basketballs. She was huge.

We had an oversized playpen for the twins. You see, in those days the play pen was your home. You got fed, you got your nappy changed and then straight into the play pen to entertain yourself with whatever was tossed in, a bowl a cup a stuffed animal, whatever. Mom remembers Jon and Jan loved their play pen. She also remembers they played nicely together. They were really good babies. Kim took it upon herself to help with Janice. I took responsibility for Jon. As for Kevin, he spent most of his time trying to escape. Every time the front door was opened little 3 year old Kevin made a break for it - out the door and running down the street as fast as his little legs would carry him.

Simply,
Victor

Jilane's Birthday Party and a Christmas Shot. 1972 - 1973.

Hello Family,
More pictures taken at 2214 38th Street, Rapid City. I'm guessing these pictures were taken in 1973. I'm basing the guess on Lisa's age. I'm sure Jilane recognizes everyone in this picture. There are a few I know. I see Janice and Jilane. In this series of pictures I feel it necessary to apologize for Jon. Enlarge the picture by clicking on it and look at him. Yes, I'm sorry for Jon.
I think Paula Thomas is in these pictues. I think I see Shelley Burnett as well.


Here's a question for my 7 siblings. Do you recognized the KoolAid tupperware container? We kept that filled. It was our watering tough. We drank the stuff by the gallons. What else do you remember about these pictures? What else comes to mind when you see them? Send along your comments.

Lisa

And Another Lisa

And a picture of the famous heater vent in the living room. Lisa is just learning to walk.


Wow! This may be the only picture left of our 1958 blue station wagon with the hole in the floorboard. This is the car mom and dad used a vice grip to shift gears with. We held the windows up with clothes hangers. It's horn blew everytime you turned a corner. It belched poisonous clouds of blue oil smoke. And in its last days it wouldn't reverse. Ah memories.....
Christmas 1972. Look at Kevin's clothes. Such style! I'll bet he won't show this picture to anyone. Quick, copy it, call him and ask for money or it gets distributed.

Simply,
Victor

And Now, a Drop of Scottish Blood. Robert the Bruce, King of Scotland, Our 20th Great Uncle

Robert the Bruce, our 20th Great Uncle

Hello Family,
For today's journey in our family Way Back Machine we travel to Scotland. Before we do, let's review what we know about our ancestors so far.

• We have several English Kings and Queens in our ancestral line.
• We discovered we are descendants of Roman Emperors.
• We are descendants of Holy Roman Emperors.

I'm currently researching direct family ties to Irish and Welsh Royal lines but while I do that let's meet someone from our royal Scottish family line.

His name is Robert the Bruce. He is, without a doubt, one of Scotland's greatest historical figures, a George Washington of Scotland so to speak. Robert is our 20th Great Uncle. His sister Marjoie Bruce Princess of Scotland is our 20th Great Grandmother.

This is therefore our Bruce family Scotish tartan:

This is our Bruce Family Coat of Arms: Fuimus means "We Have Been"



And Now, a bit of the Bruce Family History:

Robert I, known as Robert the Bruce, was the king of the Scots who secured Scotland's independence from England.

Robert was born on 11 July 1274 into an aristocratic Scottish family. Through his father he was distantly related to the Scottish royal family. His mother had Gaelic antecedents. Bruce's grandfather was one of the claimants to the Scottish throne during a succession dispute in 1290 - 1292. The English king, Edward I, was asked to arbitrate and chose John Balliol to be king. Both Bruce and his father refused to back Balliol and supported Edward I's invasion of Scotland in 1296 to force Balliol to abdicate. Edward then ruled Scotland as a province of England.

Bruce then supported William Wallace's uprising against the English. After Wallace was defeated, Bruce's lands were not confiscated and in 1298, Bruce became a guardian of Scotland, with John Comyn, Balliol's nephew and Bruce's greatest rival for the Scottish throne In 1306, Bruce quarrelled with Comyn and stabbed him in a church in Dumfries. He was outlawed by Edward and excommunicated by the pope. Bruce now proclaimed his right to the throne and on 27 March was crowned king at Scone. The following year, Bruce was deposed by Edward's army and forced to flee. His wife and daughters were imprisoned and three of his brothers executed. Robert spent the winter on the island off the coast of Antrim (Northern Ireland).

Returning to Scotland, Robert waged a highly successful guerrilla war against the English. At the Battle of Bannockburn in June 1314, he defeated a much larger English army under Edward II, confirming the re-establishment of an independent Scottish monarchy. Two years later, his brother Edward Bruce was inaugurated as high king of Ireland but was killed in battle in 1318. Even after Bannockburn and the Scottish capture of Berwick in 1318, Edward II refused to give up his claim to the overlordship of Scotland. In 1320, the Scottish earls, barons and the 'community of the realm' sent a letter to Pope John XXII declaring that Robert was their rightful monarch. This was the 'Declaration of Arbroath' and it asserted the antiquity of the Scottish people and their monarchy.

Four years later, Robert received papal recognition as king of an independent Scotland. The Franco-Scottish alliance was renewed in the Treaty of Corbeil, by which the Scots were obliged to make war on England should hostilities break out between England and France. In 1327, the English deposed Edward II in favour of his son and peace was made with Scotland. This included a total renunciation of all English claims to superiority over Scotland. Robert died on 7 June 1329. He was buried at Dunfermline. He requested that his heart be taken to the Holy Land, but it only got as far as Spain. It was returned to Scotland and buried in Melrose Abbey.

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