The following is an instance of genuine serendipity in genealogy in our own family - shared in my English/Australian cousin's own words...

"We (William Guylott Walton, my great-grandfather, and  Gordon Robert Walton, my cousin) never met, we never knew of each others existence. Both of us lived in Northampton, England at one time (again I did not know this till a few months ago) WGW emigrated to the USA with his family, I emigrated to Australia.

It seems we both wrote poetry. On reading WGW's poems I find out we both wrote poetry about the same subjects. It is bizarre. My shopping poem was written about 6 years ago, I came out of Woolworth's (Woolie's) one night after doing my weekly shopping (Ozzie Woolworth's sell groceries) and I had this line of poetry suddenly running through my head. I had to stop immediately in the middle of loading up my shopping in the boot of my car and write the poem. It took me about 10 minutes and that was it. Done and then forgotten about. Until of course I read WGW's poem!  

Like WGW, I was in a church choir when I was young. and later played in a band. Like WGW I also have written a book of poems, Like WGW I also was fortunate enough to be able to help some of my 'in laws' emigrate to Australia while he helped his emigrate to the US.

It must be in the genes."

Gordon's website 

A SHOPPING SPREE

written by my great-grandfather William Guylott Walton (1874-1961)

My wife to me this morning said; "I see we're almost out of bread;

With lots of hungry mouths to feed, there's lots of things that I sadly need;

I don't feel well enough to go and shop around the stores, and so

Although this is a thing you dread, I think you'll have to go instead

"I've got a list all written down of all the things I want from town,

At self-serve stores where you will shop, you'll simply in a basket drop

The things that I have written here, you'll find it very simple, dear.

I'll read aloud my shopping list and see if anything I've missed

"Ten pounds of flour, a ten pound ham, some pickled pears, a jar of jam,

Some pork and beans, a can of peas, about two pounds of cheddar cheese;

Three cans of soup, a pound of rice, and bring some fish, if it looks nice.

Two dozen eggs, some coffee, too, some meat to make an Irish stew.

"Two pounds of bacon, nice and lean, two pounds of butter, margarine,

Potatoes, celery, summer squash; some soap flakes too, with which to wash;

A can of salmon, sandwich spread, you'd better bring three loaves of bread;

Six oranges, some figs and dates, some napkins and some paper plates.

"Some lemons too, you'd better buy, I want to make a lemon pie;

Of grapes I'd like a nice big bunch, and sandwich bags to pack your lunch;

To serve up quick a supper dish, you'd better bring canned meat and fish,

Some crackers, and some cookies too, I think for groceries that will do.

"The ten cent store is next, you know, that's where you do not like to go;

But as I cannot go, you see, it's up to you and not to me;

There's not so many things I need, in fact they're very few indeed,

I've written every item clear, so you should have not trouble, dear.

"One pair of nylon hose; size ten, some hair-pins and a fountain pen;

A lipstick and some facial cream, nail polish and some brilliantine;

A latch to put upon the door, some wax to clean the kitchen floor.

Oh, yes, a lampshade too, we need, some panties and canary seed.

"I want some yard to knit some rugs, some insect powder for the bugs,

Moth balls to put into our clothes, some rubber gloves and children's hose.

Some nails and screws, some bolts and nuts, a paring knife that really cuts,

A couple of small baking tins and half a dozen bobby-pins.

"I guess that's all, but on your way, there's still some bills that you must pay,

The mortgage payment on our home, electric bill and telephone;

And see that you're not gone all day, get out of here, get on your way."

Much grief and woe is mine, you see, when sent upon a shopping spree.

SHOPPING  written by my newfound cousin Gordon Robert Walton 

It's my night for shopping at "Woollies"

And it's a trip I know must be done

The trolley that I picked is crabbing

So I return for a better one

Bread and Cereals are always my first choice

Multi-grain's a must or wholemeal

And All-bran's my favourite breakfast

Whilst to Adam, Cornflakes have appeal

Six litres of skimmed milk, only Devondale

And this trolley's started crabbing as well

And I pick-up Diet Jam on my travels

But with this trolley it's a journey to hell

On Friday shelf-fillers are hard at it

And cartons are stood down the aisle

Now my path is blocked by a shopper

We hesitate who's first, and then smile

I see that apples are on special

A kilo for ninety-nine cents

Aussie navels are dearer than Californian

But to protect jobs it's worth the expense

And I know I'm a creature of habit

And this part that I play seems surreal

I look at the price and the quality

And assess which size the best deal

And finally we have the ritual of check-out

And the queue for the tills are all long

I flick through a 'mag' while I'm waiting

And Princess Di tells all what went wrong

The girl on the till now is waving

"How much these condoms, pack of four?"

Now all eyes are transfixed on the shopper

Who begs being swallowed by the floor

Now it's "G'day! How're you going?"

As I park my trolley near the till

"I'm fine" I respond without thinking

Which changes on seeing the bill

And such are life's little pleasures

And we are what we eat so they say

And the drama of Friday night shopping

Is a highlight in an otherwise dull day  

(c)  Gordon Robert Walton 2001

And yet another example of their serendipitous poetic efforts:

Written by William Guylott Walton (1874-1961) about his mother Sarah Ann Taylor Walton (abt. 1832-1923)

My Beautiful Mother

With many women on the street,

My mother, perhaps, cannot compete;

As far as style and fashion go

She isn't much in vogue, I know;

Her clothes are old and obsolete,

But, always, she looks trim and neat;

Though others this may never see,

She still looks beautiful to me.

She never goes to beauty shops

To put her hair in curly locks;

She knows she still can fix her hair,

Without expense of going there.

Can wash it clean with good shampoo,

A permanent she too, can do.

Throu other eyes this may not be,

Her hair hooks beautiful to me.

A well trained voice she does not own,

Though sweet and mellow is its tone;

Of hearing her I never tire,

When singing in the village choir.

She'll never reach the "Hall of Fame"

Nor hear the sound of great acclaim;

But, hearing it, where'er I be,

Her voice sounds beautiful to me.

In years to come, when old and gray,

Her beauty may have passed away,

Her face with wrinkles may be lined,

If that's the case, I shall not mind.

Some folks may think her very old,

To me, she's worth her weight in gold;

To others she may homely be,

The poem below was written by my cousin Gordon Robert Walton and given as a present to his mum, Beatrice Walton (nee Duffy) 1903 - 1990, on Mother's Day when she was living in a nursing home. It was on her bedside cabinet all the time she lived there.

TO MUM

Mum I really want to say "thank you"                  

And that comes straight from the heart                      

For giving me such a happy childhood                    

For giving me a proper start                             

Mums there are no other words but "I love you"      

For the feeling has always been there                   

From those five-minute cuddles when little                 

To my visits now that maybe seem rare              

Mum I think of you more than you realise             

And our moments together are like gold                      

And the years going by make no difference          

For the spirit of love can't grow old                  

Mum your life has been so unselfish

Regardless which daughter or son

And the debt we owe can't be measured

In all the things you have done

Mum as in tribute you see generations

And your grandchildren have families too

But all have this feeling of closeness

For a grandma as special as you

Mum words are totally inadequate

And memories of a home long ago

Reach out and touch me all my life

Like the love and care you still show

Mum today the world keeps on changing

But this love for you is the same

And love spans age, time and distance

(c)  Gordon Robert Walton 2001