General Chat

that's very good :-)

Christine I first came across the phrase 'figment of my own imagination' long ago when I was studying philosophy at the LSE. I cannot recall the one who coined it. It sounds like Emmanuel Kant or possibly Frederick Nietzsche. I googled it but the thousands of hits demonstrate what a catch-phrase it has become. Len

Your tombstone stands among the rest neglected and alone the name and date have worn off the weathered marble stone it reaches out to all who care it's now too late to mourn you did not know that I'd exist-you died aND i WAS BORN YET EACH OF US ARE CELLS OF YOU IN FLESH, IN BLOOD, IN BONE OUR HEARTS CONTRACT AND BEAt A PULSE ENTIRELY NOT OUR OWN DEAR ANCESTOR THE PLACE YOU FILLED SOME HUNDRED YEARS AGO Spreads out among the one's you left who would have loved you so I wonder how you lived and loved I wonder if you knew some day I would find this place and come to visit you. sorry about the typing just tired

Trust your imagination is vivid

Hi Len, Loved your poem Here's a little reply......... It makes a change to see someone Who puts his case in rhyme, I wonder if our ancestors did likewise Back in time? Who comes to light when you trace back Along your family tree? A politician, Lord or bard? Just look them up and see. But don't expect they'll all be good, There'll be black sheep, for sure, With many unexpected things To lay down at your door! You may find far-off convicts All sent away down-under, And Aussie branches on your tree With tales to make you wonder. Or then again, it may not be That there'll be much reported Your family may have never strayed Much less have been deported! You may just find your kith and kin Are nearer than you think, And from your GR contacts Will appear your 'missing link'! Jane.

Jane. Thanks for the pm. Why not post it here? Its very good. len

Very Good.. Pat

Made me smile ! :-) Viv

Brilliant Len Vivienne xx

I like that very much........... Barbara..xx

FAMILY TREE BLUES I asked a genealogist to do my family tree And find out all the goings on that ended up with me. It wasn’t cheap, but never mind, I’d pay him for his toil – It might turn out that long ago an ancestor was royal. Eventually he came around – his face was drawn and glum. “I’ve got sad news for you” he said “you never had a mum I’ve checked the records near and far, from here to John o’Groats Both married pairs and also those whose dads were wild oats. There’s not a trace. I’ve turned each stone and done all I can do. Not I nor church nor registrar can find a mum for you. “Good Heavens” I exclaimed, aghast. A problem now is clear; If I ain’t got a mum - then how the blazes am I here ? My gob was smacked, my flabber it was gasted as they say Nonplussment held me in it’s clutch and took my wits away. But later I was forced to see how logic would insist That anyone without a mum could simply not exist. There was but one conclusion left ; I find with consternation I’m nothing but a figment of my own imagination ! Harry H.

A friend asked me to do a look-up for him: Lilian Walker, born March 6 1896. Regrettably, I had no luck so the following is what he wrote for me.