I was putting some family data into a genealogy program yesterday, from notes that my aunt had compiled some time ago. It happens that in 1865 my great-great grandfather was married in St. George’s Churchin Hanover Square, Mayfair, London. Apparently quite a posh place at the time. (Not that my ancestors were likely to have been “quality.” They probably just lived in the parish.)
Later that night, I finished reading Framley Parsonage, one of the Barsetshire Chronicles by Anthony Trollope. In the last chapter, two of the leading characters get married at “St. George’s, Hanover Square”!
What are the odds that I’d first hear about that church because of my family connection, then read about it in a relatively well-known work of fiction on the same day? (Of course, the way my brain works these days, if I’d finished the book a day later or earlier, I probably would have forgotten about the family connection.)
Mundane, pointless, and I’ve shared.
Since this will probably not require much further discussion or debate, feel free to describe startling coincidences you’ve experienced.
I’m going from memory here, but I think in Dorothy L. Sayers’ Busman’s Honeymoon, St. George’s, Hanover Square, was were Peter Wimsey’s sister-in-law wanted Peter and Harriet Vane to marry. Instead, they married in her college chapel.
Two little girls were walking to school one morning, and one realized she’d forgotten something and headed back to her house. As she was on her way back there was a horrific explosion. 2000 people were killed and 9000 were injured. The girl never saw her friend again.
Shortly thereafter, her family moved from Halifax to a suburb south of Boston. They moved into a house that the girl grew up in. She inherited it, moved her husband in, had four children and a bunch of grandchildren. In her mid-80s, she met an old man who had lived around the corner from her for something like 50 or 60 years, but whom she’d never met previously.
Actually, she had. They were classmates in Halifax.
I knew her because I was dating her granddaughter. The next woman I seriously dated was the daughter of another explosion survivor.
My grandmother once mentioned her mother’s maiden name, something I had never heard before. It was the same last name as the woman I was dating (and eventually married). The name is quite unusual in the US, too.
There’s a guy in my area with the same name as me. His wife’s name is Cathy. I used to get their mail all the time, which I’d forward to them. I also got a lot of phone calls, usually they’d ask for Cathy.
A few weeks ago I met an awesome woman, and we hit it off immediately. Her name is Cathy.
