I Always Wanted a Bear

Quite a long time ago, my father started messing with genealogy. I think you get like that when you hit a certain age. So, he started going up to London and peeling through old registers to find out where the Lileys came from. Popular folklore was that we were somehow related to Nelson or a seventeenth century highwayman. Needless to say, neither were proved and my father was slightly dismayed to discover that the Lileys seemed to have spent centuries in and around Todmorden and Hebdon Bridge up north, running mills and looking after engines.

He was however, delighted to come across a small church in Yorkshire (Kirkthorpe) with our very own coat-of-arms on one of the stained glass windows. This really amazed and pleased him. At last, a true heritage with some sort of pedigree. A white lion, waving its paw at you on a brown background, with three balls beneath. Not sure what all that means, but it looks a happy and well-fed soul.

I myself was not so happy. I always wanted a bear involved in any coat-of-arms of ours. I love bears, you see. But, as my father said at the time, lions imply a royal lineage. We just have to keep looking further back.

I am still looking.