I was looking for a friend's grave in a small cemetery in Seminole County, Florida, about four years ago. As I paused near a tree, I heard a crashing in the branches, as if something fairly large was falling. When I looked up, I saw nothing, not even a squirrel. Nothing hit the ground, either. I had backed away from the tree to get a better look; when I turned to walk away, I found myself standing on the grave of another friend...one I hadn't been looking for, and probably would have absent-mindedly passed by because it wasn't the name in my thoughts. I hadn't been there since his funeral; in fact, I'd forgotten he was there. How very like him to say, "Don't forget to stop by as long as you're here!"

Having an unusual surname (SWADLING), I correspond with anyone else of the name who is interested. I had found the name of another SWADLING in England, who was researching the name, in the early 1980s. We exchanged letters and family trees, but were unable to find any connection between our families. Ralph has traced his back to the 1600s, and helped me to take mine back to 1700, but still no connection. My SWADLINGs had come to Australia in 1838 from Sussex, Ralph's were all in Berkshire, Oxfordshire and Warwickshire.

My parents had both retired from work, and decided to take a trip to Europe, and visit Ralph and Noreen along the way. After arriving in England, they rang Ralph and arranged to visit. When they arrived, the door was opened by Ralph's wife Noreen, who had a stunned look on her face but took them inside. When they met Ralph, he looked stunned also, then went off and returned with a photo of his recently deceased father.

The resemblance between Ralph's father, and my dad and his male relatives, was amazing. No wonder they were so stunned!

They brought a copy of the photo home with them, and I now have it in my files.

George Baker, one of my 3x great grandfathers was born Feb 1, 1794 in Sullivan, New Hampshire, a small town a few miles north of Keene. He lived his life there as a farmer and father of eight children. In 1835 he was a partner of Mr. Enoch Woods working a farm "At the Halves" as men say, and living in Enoch Woods' house. Newspaper accounts of these events state that George Baker was a great favorite of Mr. Woods and that there was "no enmity between them." However for several years "Mr. Woods had shown signs of a disordered mind. He had kept a tavern at one time and drank too freely." On the evening of Friday, October 15, 1835 there had been a disagreement between the two men about the contract, & as Woods stepped from the northwest room of the house into the kitchen he was carrying a dirk, "George suddenly rose, perhaps intending to pass out the door to the north. In a second Baker's chest was in collision with the dirk which penetrated his heart. Baker lived about 20 minutes. Mr. Woods was arrested and taken to the jail in Keene where on the 25th of March he committed suicide in his cell by hanging."

This was the second murder in the town's history. At the time of his murder George Baker's children ranged in age from 8 to 18. Orrin Whittemore Baker, my 2xgreat grandfather, the seventh of the eight children, would have been 10 years old.. George, Emerson, Elizabeth (m. Enoch Upton) and Emily (m. __Towls) and others.

George Bakers original gravestone told the grim story "Here lies George Baker who met his death Oct 16, 1835 at the hands of Enoch Woods who stabbed him with a dirk." It may have been that George, and perhaps Enoch's ghosts wandered about the small Sullivan graveyard trying to settle their argument, because when George's wife Eunice (Whittemore) Baker died 30 years later the stone was replaced with one that reads; "Father & Mother George Baker Died Oct 16,1835 age 42. Eunice his wife died June 14, 1866 age 83. Rest spirit, rest. A year or two ago I searched out the graveyard and it took me three tries to find the stone, even though it is located just a bit inside and to the left of the cemetery gate. The first attempt was about eleven p.m. on a moon-less night in October. I didn't get very far, in fact I decided not to even get out of the car, not that I'm superstitious… The second try was in daylight and I just missed it but came back and found it that afternoon.

About 25 years ago, my husband and I were out for a drive on a Sunday, we had no place in particular in mind. We had stopped at a little out of the way cafe for lunch. While sitting by the window I noticed a quaint little wooden church up on the hill across the road ,and up aways from where we were at. I'm always looking for neat pictures, so mentioned to my hubby when we were done eating, lets go over there. We drove up to it, I leaned out the window to take the pictures I wanted. There was something sad to me about the church. The grounds were kept up fairly well, but the church itself could of used a coat of paint. Needed lots of T.L.C. I saw leaves on the stairs, thought " I'll get out and clear the stairway with my feet." When I got up to the stairs, I noticed the tombstones off to the back, and side of the building. I headed over towards it ,husband shaking his head all the way, telling me "what on earth are you heading back there for?" Told him I am going to look at tombstones. " What for, you don't know anyone buried here." I walked up to the back of the cemetery, the part highest on the hill, stopped looked down, saw the name John Krumholz on one stone ,and Mary Krumholz on the other, told my hubby that name rings a bell with me. We went to my parents home later in the evening and was telling my folks about the names we saw. My dad looked up at me, Told me "that was your gr.gr.uncle and aunt. That is the church the family went to in the early 1900." Church hasn't been used in years, as a matter of fact he had read the church was to be torn down to make room for a wider road, and the cemetery was to be left alone. That was the beginning of my interest in Family History. I have no idea what brought us to that old church and cemetery, but it sure kindled a passion for finding out my family's past. Weeks later we went back out to show my sister the graves, but never did find the little cafe or church again. It was like we were suppose to be there at that time.

I don't know if qualifies as a "Ghost Story" or not, but I had a dream one night in which I saw a page out of a book - the Book of Life? -- I had been researching an ancestor that I am linked to in three different ways and was going nuts trying to find information on him. This page showed me that he had 5 wives and 17 children - so far I've found 4 wives and all 17 children. Prior to this "dream", I only knew of 1 wife and 14 children. Just thought I'd throw it out!