Another poem A FAMILY HISTORIANS LAMENT - AUTHOR UNKNOWN I've been doing family history for nearly 30 years, Diligently tracing my illustrious forebears, >From Pigeon Lake to Peterborough, Penrith to Penzance, My merry band of ancestors has led me quite a dance. There's cooks from Kent and guards from Gwent And chimney sweeps from Chester. There's even one daft fisherman lived all his life in Leicester, There's no - one rich or famous, no not even well-to-do, Though a second cousin twice removed once played in goal for Crewe. I've haunted record offices from Gillingham to Jarrow; the little grey cells of my mind would humble Hercule Poirot. I've deciphered bad handwriting that would shame a three year old, and brought the black sheep of the family back into the fold. My bride of just three minutes, I left standing in the church, as I nipped into the graveyard for a spot of quick research. Eventually I found an uncle, sixty years deceased. That was far more satisfying than a silly wedding feast, After three weeks of wedded bliss, my wife became despondent She named the public records office as the co-respondent. I didn't even notice when she packed her bags and went I was looking for a great granddad's will who'd died in Stoke on Trent But now my 30 year obsession is lying in the bin Last Tuesday week, I heard some news that made me pack it in. It was then my darling mother, who is not long for this earth, casually informed me they'd adopted me at birth!