Lost At Sea – a family history

I owe my uncle Lenny for prompting my activity in genealogy. I knew the general outline of my father’s side of the family, but nothing of my mother’s. Uncle Lenny gave me his best effort at a family tree for the Carreras side of the family. Over the years Uncle Lenny’s material, DNA testing, Ancestry, Family Search, and other documentary sites I put together a good understanding of the Carreras’ and the related families, especially the Horvath, my paternal grandmother’s family. What I have satisfies me, and I don’t feel the need to obsess on details.

Frankly, the family stories handed sown to me from my father and uncle Lenny are much more interesting. My paternal Grandfather, Nicholas Carreras, was from a long line of Nicholas’, It’s my middle name, and the first name of my oldest son, and the middle name of my youngest. Tradtion!

Granpa was a musician (guitar and el seis), and a woodcarver (nautical models). Well, I was a folksinger who played guitar, and of course, if you read my blog, you might be aware that I am a marine woodcarver ( ships, boats, quarterboards, transom banners, eagles, and quarterboards).

The family is marked by a maritime trait. Most of us have gone to sea, or been closely involved with it.

Gee, the Carreras apples don’t fall far from the tree, do they?

My mother was, and remains, a cipher. She was born on Providence Island in the far western Caribbean, not far from the Nicaraguan coast ( not New Providence near Jamaica.) Providence is interesting for being an English speaking Island. When I tried to research my mother I ran into numerous barriers. She was brought to this country at age eight by a brother who rapidly disappears, and documents are scarce. Let me explain that last. At some time the British government ( which had lost control of the colony to Spain) lost many of the records by housing them with the documentation for New Providence Island. Then, a hurricane destroyed many of the vital records on Providence Island.

OK, that’s enough to frustrate anyone. but the additional obstacle was my mother, who not only did not want to cooperate but forbade me from proceeding.

Now I am my mother’s son. My mother was a stubborn, hardheaded, and determined woman. My father always told me that I got those traits from her. I believe him. So my mother should have known forbidding me would only set my course. Off I went.

Some hints pulled at the cultural anthropologist in me. Mom was a Robinson. Local history on the island pegs the Robinsons as arriving with Henry Morgan’s raid on Panama. One of his ship’s officers stayed long enough to establish the Robinson line on the island*. Mom was infuriated when I told her about this, and told me to stop. But the course was set. I asked her about the story she told me when I was young about an ancestor hanged for piracy. She blanched and denied the whole thing. So I told her all the juicy folk tales I had rounded up. Once again she forbiddingly forbade further research. Of course, I continued. I found traces of the brother, a marine engineer/ seaman. Evidently he’d wound up having a businedss not far from where we lived when I was young. My sister verified that Mom always crossed the street before we came near his business. Hmmmmm.

That’s where I stand with the family history, seamen, musicians, carvers, strong women, and privateers. Anyone who suggests my ancestors were pirates will see the sharp end of a cutlass – got it, mate? Priveteers!!!

• To keep this short, I’ve excised an interesting alternative origin story from the Napoleonic Wars.