Bluebells and Dandelion Wishes

Some of you who follow my blog posts will note a bit of a long pause in my posts about my trip to England. Perhaps a bit of an explanation is in order. This post is dedicated to the memory of my dear friend Jean WHEATON. Her children have written to me how much she was looking forward to these posts. It feels like she has been gone for longer than two weeks and so I will forgive myself for not being able to face this earlier. Jean was not just a fellow genealogist, but she had grown to be one of my dearest friends. That may seem a bit odd as she lived in Surrey, England and I in California and we met but once for four days back in 2015. She was a kindred spirit in so many ways and when I was in England recently she was always the ambassador, worrying over whether I was having a good time. She had been in and out of the hospital so our last few conversations were by phone. During Covid 19 we started Skyping and met almost every Saturday or occasionally Sunday for the past five years. It was a welcome respite from a world gone mad.

During my visit to Hever Castle I took the photo below. Jean had shared with me her thoughts and she was right that it is a smaller castle and more “intimate” than many other English castles. While there I lay in the grass trying to get a photo of her beloved bluebells. It was mid May and I was lucky there were still some in bloom. It was not the photo I was hoping to share with her but it would have to do.

I had hoped to find a wood with a carpet of bluebells which I knew were her favorite. But instead this was a mixed open wood of buttercups, bluebells, allium and dandelions. I did not blow the head of dandelion seeds but I will metaphorically pick it now and give it a good hard blow. Some believe that the seeds will carry your thoughts and dreams to loved ones. I like to think that she would like that.

I was going back through emails between us and there were thousand just in the last few years. One cute one was about Jane Austen who was her favorite author as well as mine. I had shared that Jane was my 5th cousin 8 times removed according to Family Search—but I said I had not yet had time to prove it. I am always skeptical since many times these turn out to be wrong. But maybe my reluctance is that I would like to think it was true.

Jean had collected WHEATONs worldwide for many years in hopes of solving her husband’s ancestral past. And I was doing the same on this side of the pond. We joined forces over 35 years ago and I host her work here, even though much of the formatting was lost in the transfer and is unfinished business for me to clean up. Jean was a much better genealogist than I and documented everything with precision. I consider myself fairly organized but she put me to shame. We worked well together and I will be forever grateful to her, for her work.

Back in 2011 while I was recovering from a cancer surgery I built my original website and wrote the Beginner’s Guide to Genealogy. Jean was there cheering me on the whole way. In 2015 I traveled to England and met up with Jean and Den in Tiverton, Devon. We stayed at the WHEADON Farm Bed and Breakfast in Witheridge. [It was originally spelled WHEATON]. This was the view as we drove into the farm.

We both had thought our WHEATON roots lay in Devon but in the end through DNA we resolved that Den’s WHEATONs roots probably lay in Staffordshire and mine and my husband’s in North Somerset, not Devon. These journeys of discovery led to many shared memories and a deep friendship that reached much deeper.

So perhaps that is part of the lesson. That as we dig deeper into our own roots we meet people who change and enrich our lives. Jean was one such person. She was generous with her time and the hundreds of people that sought her help. When she was younger she loved to dance. And she still enjoyed watching “Strictly Come Dancing” on which the American version “Dancing With the Stars” is based. She loved literature and nature and history and maps and birds and genealogy and gardens and her family. She loved puzzles and Teddy bears and had a special love of bluebells and trees and owls. Below are a few owls from our shared trip.

I hope you will forgive this detour for my friend Jean. In England a detour is called a diversion. On my trip with Jean and Den we came across one such diversion. It appeared to be impossible to get from where we were to where we intended to go. At one point I got out and asked a local how it might be done. He pointed in a direction and told me just follow that road to the crest of the hill then turn right. So we dutifully drove as directed for mile after mile after mile. The way he had described it, the turn was just up the road—but as it turned out, it was many miles. I had hoped to have a few more miles with Den and then Jean than the road allowed. But I am so grateful for those I did have. In memory of Jean Wheaton 1936-2025.

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