The International Relf Society held their 9th
annual meeting and reunion on 11th September at the
village hall in Great Shefford, Berkshire. Some 25
members and relatives were present and the hall walls
were covered by Relf/Relph family trees, photographs
and other family memorabilia. The day turned out to
be sunny and warm so the amble down to the Swan Inn
on the river Lambourn for lunch was a leisurely one.
Much exchanging of family news and connections was
evident and it was good to see how well members
mingled and a special welcome shown to those from
Canada who had made the trip. After lunch we were
given a talk on Relf army ancestry by Mark Relf from
Cheshire who had brought along a marvellous
collection of medals and documents he had amassed.
Then followed a talk by the Chairman, Graham
Archard from Somerset, and another member, Ruth
Hewlett from Reading on the Relf cricketers from
Sussex. The most famous, Albert Edward Relf was in
the first MCC tour of Australia in 1903-4. As well as
playing for Sussex he also played for Norfolk,
Suffolk, Ireland, Kent, and Berkshire. He was cricket
coach at Wellington College for some time, and his
father, John Relf, who lived at 95 Kensington Road,
Reading pre-1921, also had cricketing connections
with Berkshire. In spite of their Sussex birth there
was another migration of this Relf family - Ruth
Hewlett's grandfather, George Frederick Relf, brother
of Albert Edward Relf, married a Berkshire girl,
Alice Minnie Smith, in June 1898 at St. Mary's
Church, Reading. We learnt about other Relf Berkshire
connections that all belonged to the same family and
have their roots firmly planted in Burwash and
Brightling in Sussex.
The afternoon concluded with tea and cake provided
by our hosts for the day, Cyril and Shelagh Relf of
Great Shefford. The 10th anniversary for the
International Relf Society will be held on September
9th, 20 at Ashburnham in Sussex where William Relfe
purchased the Lordship of the Manor of Ashburnham in
1637 - but that's another story.
Not all family reunions run as smoothly as the
Relf's as Cheralynn (Charlee) Wilson explains.
It's summer, which means family reunions. Every
other year, we have a reunion for my parents'
descendants. My folks live in what was a "shelter
over a picnic table" in New Mexico's Jemez
mountains. It's grown to a 3-story permanent
residence and has slept more than 50 people, 18 dogs,
and a cat in a single weekend. This is where we
congregate.
Our reunions are not dull. The first one (1994)
was so exciting we almost decided to cancel further
reunions, believing, or perhaps hoping, we'd never
top it. Among the memorable events was the abseiling
incident in which my eldest daughter caught her hair
in a carabiner, and was suspended mid-way down a
cliff. My brother, the ex-Marine, went down on a
safety rope to free her. To do this, he required
"The One Who Doesn't Hug" to entwine her
legs and arms around his body. He planned to lift her
enough to free her hair, but in doing so, managed to
slip and get his T-shirt caught in his carabiner. Now
they were both caught, and to make matters worse, his
rope had slipped snugly around the tenderest part of
his anatomy. To free his T-shirt, he opened his
pocketknife with his teeth and began sawing away at
the material that was about two inches away from my
daughter's face. Cut free, the added weight dropped
them further, painfully tightening the noose on his
nether regions. The sensation caused him to drop his
open knife that fell point down into the ground,
narrowly missing a nephew. At this point, my sister-in-law,
who was filming the whole thing, ran out of tape, so
we missed seeing how brother and daughter got out of
the mess. Brother sang soprano for a few hours. A
nearby rock-climbing class witnessed the proceedings
open-mouthed. Some of them quit the class.
That night, after getting hordes of offspring to
bed in tents, cars, lofts, etc., the adults settled
down for a cup of hot chocolate. It began to rain - a
real frog-strangler, complete with sound and fury.
Lightning struck, rattling windows. I yelled and
grabbed a passing teenager, causing her to throw hot
chocolate on several relatives who yelled and
stampeded. Lights flickered. Another bolt hit with a
loud crackle-boom. The lights went out. Mojo (our St.
Bernard/Great Pyrenees puppy) went cracker-dog,
yelping and running hysterically over and under
furniture, triggering a round of the "Howlelujah
Chorus" from the other dogs, whose owners began
to shout and chase their dogs, stomping on people and
critters and waking the children in the loft who
began to scream because the lights were off. The tent
and car people ran inside, wet and shaking. I crawled
under a bed with one of the Siberian Huskies. Next
morning, we found that a huge pine tree next to the
cabin had been hit, exploding bark in all directions.
To commemorate the occasion, the ex-Marine carved the
date and event into a piece of the bark. It hangs in
the family room today.
During outdoor church services, one Siberian Husky
found a porcupine, which goes to show what happens to
dogs who don't attend church. What a mess! My
husband, who had found a semi-legitimate excuse to
miss this reunion, got to share in the last part when
we drove into town and picked him up on the way to
the vet. When he heard about all the fun he'd missed,
he got tears in his eyes, and we could tell he was
sorry.
Reunions are a lot of work, both for those
planning and those attending. The ultimate test of
family endurance happens when mother's clan camps for
four days in southern Colorado. There are more than
250 of us, not counting dogs and friends. It is not
my idea of fun to pack everything we own and sleep in
a tent with wet, cowering dogs inside and vicious
wild animals and sneaky teenaged relatives outside. I
do not enjoy port-a-potties, especially by the fourth
day when the preschool boys in camp have figured out
that the basin on the side is not for washing hands,
and consider it a matter of honour to use it as it
was intended. I am not fond of cooking on a Coleman
stove, although, in the mountains, people expect all
meals to taste basically the same - burned or raw. I
do not relish being hit with five gallons of water
travelling at 30 miles per hour in the traditional
water fight, although my sons-in-law tell me this is
their favourite part. It's the only time they may
abuse me with impunity. I do not like the 3 a.m. hike
to the outhouse because I can't resist the bedtime
Peppermint Patty (hot chocolate made with peppermint
tea). It either rains, or it is dry and the talcum
powder dust coats everything. So, why do I go? Maybe
it's because I love to see all the little kids call
each other "Cousin" - they never bother to
learn names. Maybe it's because we have kids with
every shade of skin and hair, and two hours after we
arrive, they're all the same colour - dust or mud.
Maybe it's the demonic giggle from a five-year-old
throwing a cup of water on his Nanny during the water
fight, knowing this is the only time he'll ever get
away with it. Maybe it's the clusters of teenagers
plotting to put oral anaesthetic in someone's
toothpaste.
Maybe it's the family church session or the visits
around the campfire when we hear new jokes and old
ghost stories. But, mostly, it's the magic it works
on kids. In these troubled days, when families are
crumbling, reunions give our children security in
belonging. Whether they achieve great things, whether
they are "just folks," or rotten as year-old
eggs, they know that they are loved unconditionally.
My kids don't want to miss a reunion and that's
pretty impressive.
