The Raggland from Raglan

The girl with hair of fire and moonlight eyes. Her skin so pale and diseased with freckles. She is most obviously Scottish, likely Irish, and says she is Dutch while her brother obsesses over their German heritage. Yet most interesting are her Welsh and Gaelic highlights. She once told me of her grandfather; Great-great grandfather that is. She had an old picture of a young woman set on her desk; her great-great grandmother. Gladys E. Florland Raggland. On the back was a recorded lineage from different pens in different hands.

“’Gladys E. Florland Raggland – Ellis –‘“ she said “Grandma and grandpa Raggland arrived here at Ellis Island. ‘Mother of Beryl Jeon Raggland – who is the mother of Dana M O’Connor’, that’s grandma Coffee. ‘- who is the mother of Leslie Rene Donaldson’, that’s my mom, ‘ – and Bruce Erick Donaldson’, that’s Uncle Bud. ‘Savanna and Grace’s Great-Great Grandmother’, those are my little cousins.” She had guessed the list strayed to her cousins because they were Donaldons’, remarking that her mothers’ side of the family had an odd way of determining bloodlines. She stared deep into her young grandmother’s smile and began reciting the tale as she knew it.

Grandpa Raggland had immigrated to America from the Netherlands. He was one of the first to enter the Land of Opportunities and in turn his name is cast in the placard at Ellis Island. From that day to the present she knows only the names. Names of the children, and of the mothers and fathers down to her own. The true sparkle is what lies within the names. Especially Raggland; formerly Raglan, just like the medieval castle of Monmouthshire.

                Though she dreams of the flag and candlelight laden haven it once was, she knows only of its war-worn state. Her mother had traveled to Wales and stood before its gates. She had crossed the moat to enter its keep. Three stories. Fire-places two men high and six men wide. Grand terraces and gardens. Gaping windows in tremendous towers, adorned with gargoyles to scout. Half its whole withered with civil rivalry.

                She started to laugh as she described the Raglan Emblem, “If I remember correctly, it’s a shield, with crossed swords, and, oh-my-gosh, this is so embarrassing. Unicorns. Freaking unicorns on each side. Sounds like something out of Monty Python right?” And with that, she began to ponder her own words. She stopped her excitement to look again at her grandmother. “Right out of Monty Python. Wouldn’t even surprise me if it actually was. My mother was the first to tell me about Grandpa Raggland. And she’s not one to lie. But I really don’t know. I’ve done light research. Very light. Raglan is the village in the county of Monmouthshire, it’s never mentioned as the name of any descendants or anything else for that matter.” Her eyes began to sadden and with a heavy sigh she flipped the picture back over. “Raggland, O’Connor, and Donaldson. And I’m Berkenpas. With a spread like that, who knows; maybe I have ten family castles.”