Time for Week 35 of the 52 Ancestors in 52 Weeks Challenge! As noted in my first post of this challenge, I am starting with my most ancient known ancestors.
This week’s ancestor is Ansis Eglītis, born April 13, 1850, died prior to the mid-1920s. He is my great-great-grandfather, my maternal grandfather’s maternal grandfather.
As mentioned in his father’s post, Ansis Eglītis (junior) was the son of Ansis Eglītis (senior) and Anna (last name unknown). His birth record has not been found, since the Limbaži records are missing for that year, thus this date comes from a revision list supplement. I would assume he was born on Langači farm on Limbaži estate, since his family lived there earlier, and he appears on Langači farm as an infant in the 1850 revision list.
Ansis Eglītis married Līze Graumane sometime between 1873 and 1876, however, these marriage records are also missing from the Limbaži church records. The next time we meet Ansis is when he is moving to Lāde estate in 1878 with his wife and first son Vilhelms Leonards (b. 1876). They moved to Lejas Samši, the farm that Līze had grown up on, and that remains in my family to this day.
Ansis and Līze had nine children, according to a family story told to me by my great-aunt. The records provide me with the following: the aforementioned Vilhelms Leonards, Johanna Malvīne (1878), Hugo Samuels (1882), Emma Marija (1884), a stillborn daughter (1886), Kārlis Eižens (1887), Jānis Alfreds (1890), my great-grandmother, Mērija Alide (1892) and Ella Elizabete (1897). I’m not sure if the stillborn daughter was included in that count of nine, or if there is yet another child I have not found yet. I’m pretty certain several of the children died in infancy, though the only one I have confirmed thus far is Hugo Samuels.
Ansis died prior to the mid-1920s, when and how I am not yet certain. I only know that my great-aunt has no recollection of him, but she does remember her grandmother Līze. So I would say that he probably died before my great aunt was born, or when she was just a baby. Ansis is buried in the family plot in Limbaži cemetery, however the gravestone also does not provide any information – it just says “Eglītis family”. His wife Līze, his son Vilhelms Leonards and Līze’s parents Marcis and Trīne Graumaņi, are also buried there.
Where do we go next week? Back to the other family of repeating names!
Forty-second installment from the diary of my great-grandfather’s sister Alise, written during the First World War. When the diary starts, she is living just a few miles from the front lines of the Eastern Front, and is then forced to flee with her husband and two young daughters to her family’s house near Limbaži as the war moves even closer. Her third child, a son, was born there in February 1916. The family has now relocated to a home near Valmiera, and the Russian Revolution is in full swing. For more background, see here, and click on the tag “diary entries” to see all of the entries that I have posted.
August 31, 1917
It’s fall. Fall in the hills, valleys, fall also dwells in the heart. I’m sad that I did not bring my diary when we fled to the seminary, there are all sorts of crazy events that I have not been able to describe. Now we returned home with our belongings, and the war is right at our doorstep. Many are fleeing, to wherever each person thinks it might be safe. The announcements are varied – don’t flee, for if you flee into the unknown, you will die of starvation. Rīga has fallen. After a year of battles across the Daugava, Rīga has fallen and the Germans are already in Sigulda and at the Līgatne river. We are visited by “zeppelins”, who drop bombs, which create panic among the residents, and terrible fear. It is a new era knocking on Latvia’s door, with cannons and zeppelins’ bombs. Crazy events are expected, so big and terrible that the heart races. Soon Latvia’s fate will be decided…
Vidzeme’s roads are again full with processions of refugees, full of worry and long faces. They’ve stayed over even at our house. They are trouble for peaceful residents, for they destroy and take what they can. When asking a refugee, why they fled, they respond – one can’t live in a pile of ruins. And so they burn, steal, destroy, at will. Even our old Lēdurga has been destroyed, robbed, the residents fleeing into forest homes. Dagiņa’s godmother was robbed of all of her money, her home emptied. You cannot even enter Lēdurga without permission anymore. And so it is in all of the regions closest to the front, the same fate. It is not possible to describe all of the horrible events, I’d fill all of these white pages.
Epidemics are rife, and Death is cutting a wide swath through Valmiera and the area, taking people in huge numbers. Most deaths are from dysentry, young people. Epidemics grew from famine. There is a shortage of food. You cannot buy bread anywhere, and forget about anything else. A pound of butter costs 475 kopecks, a quart of milk 40 kopecks, and so on. Thank God that we still have enough, and that huge thefts have not occured. Still, the two months of strikes were difficult, when we were tormented and we weren’t allowed to take anything that belonged to us. We had to steal our own property and buy it. I was not even allowed to pick a leaf of the parsley I planted myself in the garden without shouts from the farmhands to not go in their garden, this has made their backs soft.
They were crazy times. Worker-soldier committees and councils, meetings and rallies, sedition and swearing, I’m surprised that we are still alive. Madness! Now all of the organizations have fallen apart, a line has been drawn through all of their achievements, and good!!! Most of them have been sent to the front, all of the world-changers and destroyers.
Time for Week 5 of the 52 Ancestors in 52 Weeks Challenge! As noted in my first post of this challenge, I am starting with my most ancient known ancestors.
This week’s ancestor is Jānis Šīrs, born October 20, 1819 and died after 1868. He is my great-great-great-grandfather, by way of my paternal grandmother’s maternal grandfather, Jēkabs Šīrs.
Jānis Šīrs was born on Staiceles farm on Pučurga estate, near the west coast of Lake Burtnieki in northern Latvia. His parents were Marcis and Anna. Jānis married Kristīne Kvante on November 21, 1851 at the Matīši Lutheran Church.
Kristīne’s entry describes their migration pattern – from Pučurga to Stāberģi in 1858, to Milite in 1863, to Vilzēni in 1868. It is here that their path appears to stop, though there is a notation next to the name of their son Jēkabs (my great-great-grandfather) that he moved to Limbaži and became a part of the petty bourgeois at some point (I’m assuming a great deal later, since the bulk of the revision list registers are in German, but the notation is in Russian, and I would assume that a five year old did not amass the wealth necessary to achieve that status on his own). Whether there is any truth to this, I don’t know, because I have not found him in Limbaži records and the next news I have of him is the baptism of his daughter Lilija in 1899 in Daugavgrīva, near Rīga.
The different revision lists provide a listing of children of Jānis and Kristīne – Jānis (c. 1852), Antons (c. 1854), Augusts (c. 1856) are listed in the 1857 revision list and their 1858 move to Stāberģi. The 1863 move to Milite lists four sons – Jānis and Antons again, then Pēteris and Jēkabs (1862). The 1868 move to Vilzēni loses Antons, but adds Marcis as the youngest son. So it seems that Jānis and Kristīne had six sons all together, but two (Antons and Augusts) died in childhood. There is never a mention of any daughters, but starting from the move to Milite, there appears to be a girl called Marija Brants traveling with the family – eight years older than their oldest son, but maybe she worked with the family as an extra caregiver? That’s what I would guess, anyways. She moved with them from Stāberģi to Milite, and again from Milite to Vilzēni.
Since I have no sign of them moving anywhere after Vilzēni, it is probable that Jānis died in Vilzēni, but when, I cannot say. Perhaps if I could finally find a marriage record belonging to his son Jēkabs (to the mysterious Kristīne Kukure), that might help narrow down when he died. But since I haven’t had any luck with Jēkabs’ marriage record yet (aggravated by the fact that 31 years of his life – from 1868 to 1899 – are unaccounted for, and Kristīne Kukure’s life prior to her daughter’s birth is also a mystery), perhaps marriage records for his brothers might help, since they may have stayed in the Matīši area. It is an option to look into.
Next week we return to one of my family’s repeating names – no, we’re not going back to a Pēteris Celmiņš again yet (though there is still another one to come), but to the other repeating name! Do you remember which one that is?
Many genealogical documents contain not only information about your ancestor, but clues on how to find out even more. But do you know how to read those clues?
Documents and records lead to more documents and records. This is a given. However, the path a genealogist needs to take to get from one to the other can be incredibly difficult and time-consuming – but sometimes, those little notes, numbers and scribbles can provide more information than you may have expected, and cut that time in half – or even better than that, eliminate that difficulty all together.
In Latvian genealogy, the best document that can provide straightforward clues to other documents is the internal passport – that is, the identity document everyone over a given age had to carry with them in Latvia. Just like passports today, people needed to provide supporting documentation to be issued a passport. Sometimes this would be a previous passport, but often – particularly for the passports from the early 1920s – this document (or documents) would be something else, anything else that a person could present to confirm who they were. And the official wouldn’t just write down “birth record”, “marriage record” or “refugee document” – they would include the number of that document, and using that number, you can track down that record as well.
This number is especially important when it comes to refugee documents. Refugee documents are not organized in a way that is simple to search. They are organized as they were issued – by date, record number and location. So if you have that record number in a passport, the procedure is greatly simplified for you. Yes, after the refugee documents were finished, alphabets were created, but there are dozens of these alphabets, often with overlapping years, and plenty of spelling variations for people’s names, so you can imagine how much more complex the procedure gets without the record number. With the record number, you can go directly to the book that contains it, and easily find the person you are looking for. If for some reason you don’t find the person you expect at the record number, consider two possible alternative scenarios – one, you are looking at the wrong location, or two, there was a small mistake in the document number. For the first, it is easily solved – just look at the corresponding record number for the other locations. The second is harder, but the passport will also usually mention the date the refugee document was issued, in which case you can look by that instead.
Internal passports also provide an important link to the housing registers – these documents recorded every address change a person had, and sometimes these could be quite frequent. While housing registers often contain much the same information as a passport, they can also provide information on people who may not have crossed your radar before – relatives who lived in the same apartment, and so on. And not everyone in a family has a surviving passport in the archives, and thus these housing registers will provide information on them. Of course, not all housing registers survive, but a great deal of them do (for the city of Rīga at least, survival rates are lower outside of Rīga).
If someone got married, had children, or died, these events as well as their corresponding record numbers would also be recorded in the passports. So all in all, an excellent resource!
Other documents that can contain useful notations and document numbers are the Rīga tax lists for the late 19th century. If a person was a relatively new arrival to Rīga, the record could mention where they were from, as well as the record number for the document granting them permission to live in Rīga. These documents provide the date, ages of the people arriving in Rīga, as well as the social estate into which they were sorted. The tax lists are also sorted by social estate, so this would not be new information, but if for some reason you know the date your ancestor settled in Riga, but not their social estate, then looking at these records by date would be useful to find out the social estate, which would then help you find them in the tax lists.
The last record type I want to mention where watching out for extra notations is important are the revision lists. The revision lists frequently have almost-illegible scribbles that will reference if the person has recently arrived on the estate (or, in the case of cities, changed social estate), and if so, when and from where. Then you can use the incoming/outgoing registers to find out further information (including hopefully a more legible version of the place name). I talk more about these registers here. These extra notations will also sometimes reference if someone was recruited into the army.
Do you have any tips for other Latvian records that then lead to other records that I’ve forgotten to mention? Share in comments!
Time for Week 33 of the 52 Ancestors in 52 Weeks Challenge! As noted in my first post of this challenge, I am starting with my most ancient known ancestors.
This week’s ancestor is Jānis Graumanis, born c. 1789 and died 1851. He is my great-great-great-great-grandfather by way of my maternal grandfather’s maternal grandmother Līze Graumane.
Jānis Graumanis was presumably born c. 1791 on Dikļi estate, quite probably on Morēni farm like his brother Tenis. He was the son of Kārlis Graumanis. His mother is unknown, since a wife of Kārlis does not appear in the revision lists until 1834, when Jānis was already grown and married with children of his own. Unfortunately, due to the peculiarities of the parish register in Dikļi, for some reason Jānis does not appear, though his father and brother do.
Jānis married a woman named Grieta who was 10 years his junior sometime between 1811 and 1820. They had three sons, Pēteris (c. 1820), Marcis (1823, my great-great-great-grandfather) and Juris (c. 1828), and one daughter, Līze (c. 1835). They left Dikļi in 1842, moving to Pociems estate, and then they moved onwards to Sigulda estate in 1849, where they were enumerated on the 1850 revision list.
This 1850 revision list presents us with a possibility as to where Jānis was when he was not included in the parish register – in 1850, Jānis and his family lived at the school on Sigulda estate, and he is listed as the “schoolmaster”. Perhaps when that parish register was created, Jānis was away studying somewhere? I’m not certain what kind of education was required to become a schoolmaster at a parish school at the time, but it is something to consider.
The 1858 Sigulda revision list tells us that Jānis died in 1851, however these records are missing for Sigulda for that time period, so I cannot confirm a date. His widow Grieta was still living there at the time, and his eldest son Pēteris may have taken over the position of schoolmaster, but he no longer lived at the school (I think that is what the scribbled notation is telling me). Marcis and his family had departed for Stalbe estate in 1851, though I do not know if it was before or after Jānis’ death.
Jānis has got to be one of my earliest ancestors that was something besides a farmer. My other ancestors only started diversifying into other occupations in the latter half of the 19th century. I should read more about education in the 19th century – could provide some important tidbits on what Jānis’ life would have been like!
During the Soviet era, there were few buildings so feared and dreaded in Latvia as the “Corner House” – an otherwise nondescript building on the corner of Brīvības and Stabu streets (though of course Brīvības street – meaning Freedom Street – was called Lenin Street during the Soviet era, couldn’t have any references to freedom). This building was the headquarters of the local KGB, and NKVD before them. Many of those who entered for questioning never left through the same doors that they entered through – either they stayed in the building until they were executed, or they left in a prison truck to be taken further afield to prison or the gulag.
The building was then taken over by the Latvian police force after independence was re-established, but they abandoned it in 2008. It stood empty for a number of years, until this year – as part of the Rīga 2014 European Capital of Culture – the Corner House is open once again, but not as a prison or place of terror, but a place of exhibitions that commemorate the terrors that took place here and the wartime experiences of the Latvian people.
At the entrance to the Corner House. Photo taken by me, August 2014.
It is possible to go on guided tours of the “Cheka basements”, where the prison cells were located, and see where and how prisoners actually lived. You get to see an interrogation chamber, and learn why windows on the fourth and fifth floors had bars on them.
On the first floor, there is a free-of-charge exhibition by the Occupation Museum of Latvia that goes through the history of the Soviet occupation and some of the events in the Corner House itself. The fourth and sixth floors of the building require payment, and have a collection of exhibitions from many different museums and organizations, including the Latvians Abroad – Museum and Research Centre that I work with.
The Latvians Abroad – Museum and Research Centre’s exhibition is called “A Latvian’s Suitcase” – and exhibits items that people brought with them when they were leaving Latvia for new lives someplace else (most are from the Second World War era). The main room of the exhibition is designed to look like a luggage storage room, with the tags describing the objects looking like luggage tags.
“A Latvian’s Suitcase” exhibit. Photo taken by me, August 2014.
There are the items that you would expect – clothing, suitcases, documents – but also items that might seem overly sentimental or bulky, not items that you would think to pack if you were fleeing for your life – but people brought with them anyways, as they were a testament to what could not and should not be forgotten. Folk costumes were one of the major items – impractical as daywear, but a vital part of maintaining the Latvian identity abroad.
People bringing bread along would not sound too unusual – after all, you need something to eat while you are on this long journey. But what is surprising is the number of people who kept the crusts from this bread – and then used it as a starter for making bread in their new homes. One of the rooms of our exhibition mentions one family that still bakes bread from that same starter now, 70 years later, but from the stories I’ve heard, I know that a number of other families do the same. Totally amazing!
The exhibition at the Corner House is open until October 19th. If you are in Rīga during this time, I highly recommend you visit.
A question we ask of visitors to the exhibition – and they write their answers on a card we give them and put it up on the wall – is “if you had only minutes to pack before leaving your home, probably forever, what would you bring with you?” So now, here on this Internet wall, I ask the same question. What would you bring with you?
Time for Week 32 of the 52 Ancestors in 52 Weeks Challenge! As noted in my first post of this challenge, I am starting with my most ancient known ancestors.
This week’s ancestor is Mārtiņš Baburs, born January 9, 1844 and died 1870. He is my great-great-great-grandfather, by way of my paternal grandmother’s paternal grandmother Karoline Matilde Baburs.
Mārtiņš Baburs was born to Ādams Baburs and Anna Ronis (Bonis?) on Suntaži estate in central Latvia. When he was very young, they moved (back?) to Stopiņi estate, where there were other known Baburs, who could be family members, since this name is extremely uncommon in Latvia.
Mārtiņš married Ēde Jansons on October 16, 1866 in Ikšķile, which is not far from Stopiņi. Soon afterwards, they moved to Rīga, where their daughter Karolīne Matilde was born in 1867/1868 (depending on the calendar being used). The Rīga tax lists attest to the fact that his parents and brothers also moved to Rīga, probably around the same time.
Mārtiņš died in 1870, but where, on what date and how, I do not know. His death is not recorded in the Rīga Jēzus church (where other family events such as Karolīne’s baptism and his father Ādams’ death are recorded) or in the Ikšķile church. He died at the age of 26 – that is certainly the youngest death of an ancestor that I have. Had he been recruited into the army, and died there? Was he the victim of some sort of workplace accident? A disease of some kind? I want to know. I’ll have to consult all of the other Rīga churches for this time period, to see if for some reason he was recorded there instead, then expand out from there. Possibly also check military recruitment registers, to see if he was called into active service, but the Russian Empire didn’t have any wars going on that I’ve been able to find at that time. So for now, it remains a mystery.
Do you have an ancestor who died young, but can’t find why? Maybe we can help each other! Leave a comment below!
Time for Week 31 of the 52 Ancestors in 52 Weeks Challenge! As noted in my first post of this challenge, I am starting with my most ancient known ancestors.
This week’s ancestor is Ansis Eglītis, born c. 1818, died after 1858. He is my great-great-great-grandfather by way of my maternal grandfather’s maternal grandfather, Ansis Eglītis.
Yes, as you can tell, we have another case of repeating names – my many generations of Pēteris Celmiņš’ are not the only repeating name I have. In this case, however, there are only two – a father and son. Today, we are talking about the father, who was the son of Andrejs Eglītis and his wife Līze. He was born and lived all of his life, to my knowledge at least, on Langači farm on Limbaži estate in northern Latvia.
I now know I made a bit of an error in the entry on Ansis’ father Andrejs – looking at the 1816 revision list (without surnames, but ages match up to 1826), it turns out there were three children born before Ansis – Trīne (born c. 1798), Brediķis (born c. 1803 and died 1813) and Marija (born c. 1806). Since Ansis was the oldest surviving son in 1826, that is probably why he is listed as the first son, even though he was technically second. So it seems that Andrejs and Līze married at a “normal” age after all, and simply had a number of kids raised and out of the house before the younger group were born. Though I do still suspect that Līze may have been a second wife – her age compared to Trīne would have made her about 17 when she was born – not impossible, but it was unusual for Latvians to marry that young, and given the five year gap between Trīne and Bredikis, this could also be a sign.
At any rate, back to Ansis. Given the ages, Ansis married Anna sometime between 1840 and 1848. However, the marriage does not appear in any Limbaži records from that time, so that probably means that Anna was from another parish, and the marriage took place there. I have not yet had the opportunity to search the other nearby parishes for their marriage. But I do know that wherever she was from, the family was living on Langači farm in 1850 at the time of the revision list, where Ansis and Anna are listed with two sons, Andrejs and Ansis Junior. The 1858 revision list adds another brother, Mārtiņš. I’m not certain if Ansis Senior had any more children afterwards, but if he did, it is important to be careful looking through the records for them, since there are numerous other Ansis Eglītis’ from other related families running around as well. Though Ansis Senior and Junior were the only ones living in Langači in 1858, so that will help with accuracy.
The 1858 revision list is the last news that I have of Ansis Senior. I have not yet had the opportunity to look for a death record. But again, like above – any death record needs to be vetted carefully, since there are numerous other potential matches.
I have more information on his son Ansis and granddaughter Mērija – but for them, we’ll have to wait for different weeks!
Time for Week 30 of the 52 Ancestors in 52 Weeks Challenge! As noted in my first post of this challenge, I am starting with my most ancient known ancestors.
We are on the Celmiņš trail once again, and we now have the second (out of three total) non-Pēteris in seven known generations. This time we are talking about Kārlis Celmiņš, born March 6, 1825 and died February 2, 1886. He is my great-great-great-grandfather, by way of my paternal grandfather’s paternal grandfather.
As described in the post about his father Dāvis, he was born on Stampvēveri farm in Vijciems parish, south of Valka in northern Latvia. His mother’s name was Baiba, and he was the third son. Like most of his family members, he was probably baptized in Trikāta Lutheran Church.
Kārlis married Kače Rožlapa on September 29, 1846 at Trikāta Lutheran Church. They had four children: Pēteris (b. 1847, my great-great-grandfather), Marija (b. 1850), Minna (b. 1855) and Dāvis (b. 1858). I don’t know what happened to Minna, but I do know that Marija, after having an illegitimate daughter, married a man by the name of Pēteris Svešītis (Svesītis?). Dāvis married a woman named Marija and had at least five children.
As to my great-great-grandfather Pēteris, well, you’re just going to have to wait until his post for the details on his life!
Kārlis died on February 2, 1886 of gastric troubles. As far as I’m aware, he lived his entire life on Stampvēveri farm. How far away did he ever get to travel from there, I wonder? Probably not too far, given the time period. His grandson, my great-grandfather, eventually moved to Rīga, and had attended school in Valka before. Valka is about 23 kilometres north of Vijciems – did Kārlis even get to travel that far in his life? He was born after serfdom ended, but movement was still pretty restricted. But sometimes people did travel unimaginable distances anyways. Oh how I wish our ancestors could somehow answer all of those burning questions. Records don’t tell you everything!
Census records are typically heralded as the Holy Grail of genealogical documents: Family groups, relationships, ages, occupations, and more, easily accessible (as long as there is a search function, or if you know precisely where they lived) right at your fingertips.
Clearly, whoever says this has never tried finding anyone in the city of Rīga in the 1935 Latvian Census. The 1897 All-Russia Census records for Rīga are bad enough – but at least they are organized by street and address. In 1935, there is no such luxury.
There is some organization to the 1935 Census. However, surnames are not it, nor are street addresses, nor are families, even. Each person has their own sheet, and they aren’t filed together (with the exception of twins – they were the only family members I ever saw filed together). So you don’t have to find just one family – you have to find each family member separately, and as you’ll see, that is easier said than done.
The first level of organization in this Census is statistical district – however, statistical districts encompass entire districts of the city. I was examining the records for one of the smaller districts, geographically speaking, and it still took hours upon hours to get through it – and then just the men.
Because that’s the next level of organization – by gender. Though this isn’t foolproof – I saw a few women interspersed with the men, so mistakes were made when everything was being filed.
Next up – ethnicity. While this might narrow the field if you’re looking for someone who was a member of a minority group, if you’re looking for a Latvian, this doesn’t narrow the field very much. Also take care here if a family had a mixed marriage – there isn’t any consistency as to whether a child is filed under their mother’s or father’s ethnicity.
After these three levels of organization, then it becomes trickier. People born in Rīga are in separate files from people who were not born in Rīga, and then the Rīga-born folks are separated further by rough age groups – though these are very rough, so don’t rely on them. People who are not born in Rīga are filed in groups according to the regions they were born in – but again, no hard and fast rules. Generally speaking, people born in Latgale were grouped together – but also interspersed with people who were born in Russia. Most people born in Zemgale were filed together, but there is some crossover with Kurzeme. Vidzeme districts are all mixed together, and sometimes also grouped with people born in Estonia or Russia. And then if you don’t know where someone was born, and you were relying on the census to tell you – well, you’ve got a long road ahead of you.
And that is just about it when it comes to organization. No alphabetical order. No order by street names and numbers. All the typical things you rely on in a census – they do not apply here. I don’t know why they were arranged like this or who did it – though given the state of the folders that hold the documents, I’m guessing not long after they were created, so probably by the statistical office – but this is how they are. For now, at least.
I desperately want to reorganize these documents, so that people can access them in an effective manner, because these census entries provide a great deal of information, if you can finally find what you’re looking for. But the archives are unlikely to do it themselves – like cultural organizations the world over, they are strapped for cash and have so many projects that demand their attention first over such things like reorganizing document collections.
I’ve toyed with the idea of asking them if I could do it. I’m not sure if they’d let me, but it would be worth asking. But it would demand a great deal of time on my part, and I can’t afford to do that right now, as I have paying work to focus on, as well as plenty of other volunteer tasks that I undertake. The archives certainly couldn’t afford it either. But perhaps if enough people are interested in seeing this done, we could establish a fund that provides a certain amount of remuneration – either for me or for someone else – to make it happen.
Is anyone interested in making it happen? It would be so useful for future researchers, and, thinking ahead to when they eventually do digitize these collections, it would help to have them organized in a coherent manner so organizing and publishing the digitized files would be a piece of cake.