stained glass 
windows. We also visited Small Street where my grandparents lived and where my father was born, as well as Heber Street, where our great grandfather lived. We photographed the house opposite where number 29 would have been, next to a panelbeater’s yard. We could see the shape of the houses as most were still intact, so it was not difficult to imagine our great grandfather coming home to work after a day working as a cooper; I bet he smelt awful. We tried to visit an address picked up from a genealogist interested in our family (Gillets) but found there was no such address. I wrote to my contact later that night and asked them to check their information. I felt quite important and knowledgeable, sort of ‘at the source’. My paternal grandmother was Rose Gillett, descended from a Huguenot called Jacques de Gylet. The Gilletts went to America at some stage, so my 13th great grandfather is John Billington, a passenger on the Mayflower. I must remember to mention this when I am in America - no-one seems impressed in New Zealand. Billington had the honour of being the first man to be hung for murder in America, but as my daughter Rosie says, it was probably an act of self defence. Never-the-less, I suspect it pays not to cross the Gilletts. I tried to buy wine for dinner but they said they had plenty, so we sat down at their beautiful long table and enjoyed yet another meal with the lovely linen. The next morning Chrissie took me to the station for my train to Accrington, in Lancashire so I could visit places my mother’s family lived. I felt very sad to say goodbye - she and all the other cousins had given me a truly wonderful time, and I just wasn't sure when I would see them again.
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