My ancestors are buried in Ireland and Scotland so I never get to pay my respects in person. But that is the wonder of prayer: we can pray for our forefathers, chosen by God, and honour our ancestry, despite the distances that circumstances impose.
Just now I am on holiday in the south of France, in Menton. The cemetery at the summit of the old town centre includes that of Prince Andre Nikita Lwoff, 1901-1932. I know nothing more about him. I surmise he fled the Revolution aged 16, and ended up in Paris, where so many Russian aristocrats became taxi
drivers. Then died of TB (?) on the Riviera as a still young man. We have our own ancestors and then all the other people, known and unknown, whom we hope to meet in eternity. (Sorry for the digression.)
My ancestors are buried in Ireland and Scotland so I never get to pay my respects in person. But that is the wonder of prayer: we can pray for our forefathers, chosen by God, and honour our ancestry, despite the distances that circumstances impose.
Just now I am on holiday in the south of France, in Menton. The cemetery at the summit of the old town centre includes that of Prince Andre Nikita Lwoff, 1901-1932. I know nothing more about him. I surmise he fled the Revolution aged 16, and ended up in Paris, where so many Russian aristocrats became taxi
drivers. Then died of TB (?) on the Riviera as a still young man. We have our own ancestors and then all the other people, known and unknown, whom we hope to meet in eternity. (Sorry for the digression.)