The Beginnings of a Family of Triebswetter
The land and the houses, with everything they contained, do not belong to us anymore. All that I took with me, upon leaving, was a suitcase; in it, among others, the photographs and a copy book, like the ones used at school some sixty years ago. It contains the diary of my grandmother, written during the years of the second world war. On the last page, she has written down her family tree. For a long time, I didn't pay attention to this, I just cherished this document because it contained the handwriting of my beloved Oma. It was with me everywhere:on the high plateaus of Southern Arabia, where I lived for ten years, and now in Germany. One day, as my life became calmer, out of the blue, I became curious: Where is Rakour?
The following is the story of one segment of a genealogical research, the fruit of years of :
relevant and irrelevant books, patiently provided by a good soul from
our interlibrary loan dept.
Was it worth it? What I have found out seems very little but isn't no news also good news?!
is not the only name I have researched, I picked out Maurice Damas because
this is the line I could find out the most about. Which, in fact, is not
very much. It doesn't tell me anything about his personality, only that
he existed in a line bearing the name of Damas. Which is normal, what
can one expect to find out about an ordinary man who lived in the 18th
century? Only the fact that he left his home and made the big journey
to the Banat enables me to build a story around him, in which the circumstances
of his life have to be presumed, based upon what we know about those times.