Genes Reunited Blog

If family history research was simple, it probably wouldn’t be the fascinating hobby that it is.  The truth is that it's a highly complex and subtle research process. We need to develop an understanding of the records we use and explore ways of linking the vast range of available sources to uncover the hidden lives of our ancestors.

The two sets of records that most of us come across earliest in our research are the nineteenth and early-twentieth century census returns and the GRO (General Register Office)’s vast collection of birth, marriage and death certificates. 

The first national census of England, Wales and Scotland was taken in the year 1801 and there’s been a census every ten years since then (with the exception of 1941 when the country’s mind was on different matters). Ireland was covered from 1821 (but don’t get too excited – the Irish returns for 1821 to 1891 have not survived). It wasn’t until 1841 that the census became a truly useful tool for family historians. The 1841 census lacks the detail of its mid-to-late nineteenth century descendants but it’s still a vital source, including potentially crucial information about large numbers of people born in the middle of the previous century.

The classic Victorian census was born in 1851 when, for the first time, full genealogical details were recorded about the entire population of the country: names, ages, relationships, occupations and birthplaces are all there. The way our ancestors are bundled together in neatly packaged family groups makes it difficult for us to believe that the census wasn’t taken with us in mind!  

However, we need to understand the process that has lead to the census returns appearing on our computers today. It all started in the days leading up to census night when an army of enumerators, usually solicitors, accountants or poor law officials, appointed by the General Register Office for the specific task of collecting the census data, delivered a census schedule to every household in the country, explaining that the form needed to be completed on the designated day, and would be collected the following Monday. Once the forms had been gathered in, the enumerator embarked on the not-inconsiderable task of copying the details from the householders’ schedules into the summary books. These are the documents that we can see online today. 

It’s not hard to see how easy it would be for the enumerators to make mistakes when transcribing the data from one source to another. They were, after all, working in difficult conditions, without the benefit of electric lighting, and easily available reference sources, and with the distractions of everyday family life, in relatively cramped spaces, going on around them!

Even before the enumerators got hold of the forms, we need to question how accurate the information supplied by the householders might have been. Our ancestors had any number of reasons to be economical with the truth when it came to answering questions asked by a government of whom vast sections of the population would have had every cause to be suspicious! 

And finally, we have to consider (and perhaps doff our caps to) the modern transcribers. In undertaking the thankless task of attempting to decipher the scribbles and the sometimes virtually illegible handwriting of the nineteenth century enumerators, they have enabled us to search the census data online in ways which were simply unimaginable just twenty years ago.

Of all the pieces of information recorded by the census, the two which are most likely to end up ‘corrupted’ are surnames and birthplaces.  The range of first names available to our ancestors was relatively small and most are quite easily recognisable – even allowing for abbreviations such as ‘Jno.’ for John, ‘Wm.’ for William and ‘Thos.’ for Thomas: ages are usually easy to read, as are the names of their county of birth. So, if your initial searches fail to turn up the people you’re looking for, don’t assume that they’ve somehow been missed by the enumerators. Instead, allow for the possibility that the surname and/or the place of birth may have been misinterpreted somewhere along the line.

As well as organising the decennial census returns, the General Register Office was (and indeed still is) responsible for registering the births, marriages and deaths of the inhabitants of England and Wales. Starting on 1 July 1837 and continuing until the present day, the GRO has attempted to record the vital events of every person resident in the country and these records have traditionally provided family historians with the framework around which we can base all of our research.

Birth certificates name the child’s parents including, crucially, the mother’s maiden name.  Marriage certificates give the name of the bride and groom’s fathers (unfortunately English and Welsh marriage certificates don’t provide the mothers’ names) and although death certificates generally contain less information of a truly genealogical nature, they should certainly not be ignored.

Nowadays, thanks to the proliferation of online databases, finding birth, marriage and death certificates is a relatively straightforward process. Gone are the days of back-breaking, soul-destroying fifty year searches for a death record; or, for that matter, the searches for birth certificates under a dozen or so different spellings of the name. We can interrogate the databases using wildcards and other advanced techniques, and link marriage records to prove that our Mr Smith did indeed marry a Miss Brown.

Of course, we only have online access to the indexes (or digital equivalents of them).  In order to get the full details from the certificate, we still need to apply to the GRO for a certified copy.  This process takes time and is relatively expensive (certificates currently cost £9.25 each) but obtaining copies of relevant birth, marriage and death certificates is an essential part of any serious family historian’s armoury.  

In the early years (i.e. from 1837 until 1874) it was the responsibility of the registrars to ensure that all the births and deaths in their districts were registered.  By the terms of the 1874 Births and Deaths Act, the responsibility was transferred to the parents or next of kin but research has shown that the Act made no difference to the rate of registration.  After a short bedding-in period during which there was some resistance to the concept of civil registration (partly encouraged by the Church of England who saw it as a threat to their authority) by the late 1850s the system was as close to comprehensive as the General Register Office could have hoped. Since then, a small proportion of events (mainly births) has always gone unregistered but, more often than not, the failure to find the birth of an ancestor is most likely to be explained by the use of an ‘unexpected’ surname.

To be a good researcher, you need to be a detective. You need to look at the documents you uncover with a critical eye and continuously ask yourself whether you’re on the right lines.  Our ancestors were fallible individuals and the documents that record their lives are full of errors and inaccuracies. It’s only by approaching our research in this way that we can hope to paint an accurate picture of our ancestors’ live. As Sherlock Holmes said, ‘when you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.’