The other day my brother mentioned that he had recently discovered in a genealogy program that we are descended from British royalty, including King Henry IV and King Edward II. This, of course, was fascinating to me, and so today I spent quite a little time in Wikipedia looking up our illustrious forbears.
Turns out they were not nice people. Henry IV of Bolingbroke (1367-1413) deposed his cousin Richard the II (the Lionheart), sent him to prison, and then starved him to death. Henry’s great-grandfather Edward II (1284-1327) was such a bad king that the barons united to try to subvert his rule. Edward was so bad that his wife Isabella (knows as the She-Wolf) traveled to France, took a lover, raised a mercenary army, and returned to England to depose Edward. Subsequently, she arranged for Edward’s murder so that she could reign as regent for her young son, Edward III.
I mean really. I was pretty much relieved when I went back to the genealogy site and found that many of the connections leading me back to the royals were flagged with problems like “born after the decease of the mother.” I figure somebody was pretty excited to make the connection and ignored these problems.
What is this fascination with being of royal blood? Why do we love all the Disney princesses? Why are we glad that Cinderella marries the prince? Why do we devour the latest news about William and Kate? Why did I spend ten hours last week watching a mini-series about Queen Elizabeth II?
I’ve decided I can give up my relationship with royalty. I am grateful for the relatives I know I’m related to.
I’m grateful for Julia Ann Lockwood who in 1832 joined the fledgling Mormon church as a young girl in New York, then left her home to follow the Saints to Missouri. Before long she was soon forced to leave that home by angry mobs. She walked across the state with the other Saints, was taken in as a refugee by the good people of Quincy, and then, a young bride at age fifteen, she helped build the beautiful Mormon settlement of Nauvoo, Illinois. In only about ten years, though, they were forced again to leave their home. With the other Saints, they took their six children and made their way to Utah, arriving in 1852. There she had six more children and worked tirelessly to provide food and clothing for a large family in what was essentially a desert.
I’m grateful for Augusta Hanson Finch, my grandmother, whose father and mother joined the Mormon church in Denmark and immigrated to Utah to join the Saints in 1868. Her father was ill and could do little to support his family, so Augusta was sent to live with a family as a servant when she was just 10. She had very little schooling, but she was smart and a hard worker. She raised six children and taught them all to value education and industry.
I’m grateful for my maternal grandmother, Leah Holt Nelson, who, went to Brigham Young Academy to learn secretarial skills, then served a mission for the church in 1908. After her mission, Leah married and had two little girls, but her husband died when the girls were just babies. Leah bravely went to work to support her family, and eventually also took on the care of her widowed mother, her invalid sister, and her nieces and nephews. She did all this with such a cheerful heart that all who knew her loved her; the whole town pretty much called her Aunt Leah.
These are just a few of the great people I’m proud to be related to. Not one of them was a king or a queen, but they were good and kind and hard working. These are my people. I can let go of Isabella She-Wolf.
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