If you’ve been researching your family history for any length of time, you’ll almost certainly have experienced it. You sit down with one perfectly sensible question, intending to spend half an hour finding an answer, and somehow emerge several hours later surrounded by parish registers, census returns and half-built family trees that have very little to do with the reason you opened your laptop in the first place. It’s one of the great joys of genealogy, but it can also be one of its greatest frustrations.
I know this because I’ve done it more times than I’d like to admit.
One Simple Question…
If you’ve been reading Regency Relatives for a while, you’ll already have met my five-times great-grandfather, King Charles. Yes, that really was his name, and yes, I spent rather a long time convincing myself that somebody hadn’t made a transcription error. Once I’d gathered enough evidence to prove that King Charles genuinely existed, my curiosity naturally wandered. I started wondering just how unusual the name actually was. Surely there couldn’t have been many people called King Charles living in England during the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries?
It seemed like a harmless enough question. Searching for “King Charles” on a genealogy website quickly taught me otherwise. Once I’d persuaded the search engine that I wasn’t researching the monarchy, I still found more than twenty individuals with exactly the same wonderfully distinctive name. Looking back, that was probably the point where I should have smiled, appreciated the coincidence and returned to my own research. Instead, I made the mistake that so many family historians make. I stopped asking the question I’d set out to answer and started asking an entirely different one.
Could they all be related? It was an appealing idea. We naturally look for patterns, and an unusual name feels as though it ought to belong to one extended family rather than appearing independently across the country. Convinced I was on the verge of uncovering something remarkable, I began building separate family trees for every King Charles I could find. I imagined that somewhere, eventually, all of these branches would converge into one satisfying conclusion that explained everything.
Unfortunately, genealogy has a habit of ignoring our expectations.
When Curiosity Takes Over
To be fair, the research wasn’t entirely without reward. Several of the Frampton-on-Severn King Charleses were indeed related to one another, and I found evidence linking a handful of others as well. Those discoveries encouraged me to keep going, but every answer seemed to generate another question. Before long I was following families across Gloucestershire, Kent, London, Cambridgeshire and Northumberland, tracing lines backwards through the centuries and building increasingly complicated family trees that bore less and less resemblance to my original objective.
At some point, although I couldn’t have told you exactly when, I stopped researching my ancestor and started researching everyone else’s. The uncomfortable realisation came when I paused to review my notes. I’d learnt a great deal about families who weren’t mine. I’d uncovered fascinating stories, found connections between individuals I’d never expected to encounter and spent a considerable amount of time doing it. What I hadn’t done was answer the original question that had started the whole exercise. I’d allowed an interesting distraction to become the research itself.
There’s nothing inherently wrong with following an unexpected lead. Some of the best discoveries in family history happen precisely because we notice something unusual and decide to investigate it further. The difficulty comes when every interesting discovery begins to feel equally important. Before we know it, we’ve wandered so far from our original question that we’ve forgotten what we were trying to prove in the first place.
Start With a Research Question
One of the biggest changes I’ve made to my own research over the years has come from borrowing techniques from my academic research background. Throughout my postgraduate study, I became very familiar with the importance of beginning with a clearly defined research question. Professional researchers don’t simply collect interesting information and hope that an answer appears. They begin with a question, gather evidence that addresses that question, and draw conclusions based on what the evidence actually shows.
Family history benefits from exactly the same approach. One framework I find particularly useful is “PEO”, which is commonly used when structuring qualitative research questions in healthcare. Although it wasn’t designed for genealogy, it adapts surprisingly well.
- Person – Who exactly are you researching? Be as specific as possible. Include names, approximate dates, locations or relationships where you can.
- Event (or Exposure) – What particular event or circumstance are you investigating? Are you trying to identify a marriage, confirm a baptism, establish military service or discover where someone was living?
- Outcome – What are you hoping to discover? What would answer your question?
Using this approach forces you to define your objective before you begin searching.For example, one of my early research questions about King Charles wasn’t “Tell me everything about King Charles.” That’s far too broad and almost guarantees you’ll disappear down several rabbit holes.
Instead, my question looked something like this:
- Person: King Charles (1796-1870)
- Event: Marriage
- Outcome: Was King Charles married? If so, who did he marry, and where and when did the marriage take place?
That’s a question that can actually be answered. More importantly, it tells me exactly which records deserve my attention. Parish marriage registers become a priority. Marriage licences may become relevant. A census showing a wife supports the evidence. Reading about an entirely different King Charles living in Northumberland might be fascinating, but it isn’t helping me answer the question I’ve set myself.
Determine where the answer might actually live
A seasoned researcher (or one pretending to be composed) will usually have an idea of where the next piece of evidence might be hiding. The familiar genealogy websites are, of course, an excellent place to begin, bringing together parish registers, censuses, military records, newspapers and countless other collections. Yet they represent only a fraction of what survives. County archives, local record offices, university special collections, estate papers, tax records, court documents, apprenticeship records, maps, poor law material and specialist catalogues can all hold the missing piece of a family puzzle. For my own query here, parish marriage records would have been the obvious starting point, but experience has taught me never to stop there. A quick glance at the surrounding records for a “just in case” discovery has a remarkable habit of uncovering exactly the sort of clue that sends an otherwise sensible researcher tumbling down an entirely different rabbit hole.
Create a research plan, and stick to it – ideally
Once you’ve defined your research question and identified the records most likely to answer it, it’s worth spending a few moments deciding how you’re actually going to approach the search. A simple plan can make the difference between a productive afternoon and several hours spent enthusiastically investigating something that, whilst fascinating, has absolutely nothing to do with your original objective.
I find it helpful to work in focused blocks of time rather than attempting an all-day research marathon. Techniques such as the Pomodoro Method, working in short, uninterrupted sessions with regular breaks, can help maintain concentration and reduce the temptation to chase every intriguing clue the moment it appears. Family history rewards curiosity, but it also rewards discipline.
Tea breaks, however, remain entirely non-negotiable.
I’m also a firm believer in keeping two sets of notes. The first is for your actual research: the records you’ve searched, what they revealed, and, just as importantly, what they didn’t. Negative searches are still evidence, and recording them saves you from unknowingly repeating the same work weeks or months later. The second is for those inevitable moments when another question appears halfway through your investigation. Rather than abandoning your carefully constructed plan to pursue it immediately, write it down and return to it later. Some of my most rewarding discoveries have begun as a scribbled note in the margin, but they didn’t need to derail the research I was already doing.
Check, check, check, and document your sources of fact
Once you’ve defined your research question and identified the records most likely to help answer it, resist the temptation to dive straight in. Spending just a few minutes deciding where you’ll start, which records you’ll search first, and how you’ll record your findings can save a surprising amount of time later. Without even a loose plan, it is remarkably easy to spend an afternoon investigating something fascinating, only to realise that it has taken you no closer to answering the question you originally set out to investigate.
Think beyond the facts
Finding a record is only the beginning. The real value comes from asking what it tells you about the life behind the name. Where did your ancestor live? What was happening in their community? How might local industries, national events, changing laws or simple geography have shaped the decisions they made? Records answer questions, but context helps explain them.
This is one of the reasons I enjoy exploring local history alongside genealogy. Old maps, trade directories, estate records, newspapers and local history publications can all add colour to an ancestor’s story. Whenever possible, I also like to visit the places my ancestors knew. Walking the same streets, standing in the same churchyard or seeing the surrounding landscape often answers questions I hadn’t even thought to ask. I’m already planning a visit to Frampton-on-Severn to spend some time exploring the village where my own ancestor, King Charles, lived. I suspect the church, village green and surrounding lanes have changed rather less than the family historians who now wander around them asking awkward questions.
Celebrate the Small Victories
Family history is rarely solved in a single breakthrough. More often, it progresses one small piece of evidence at a time. A baptism you’ve finally located, an occupation that explains a family’s movements, or a missing census entry you’ve spent weeks trying to find all deserve celebrating. Each discovery brings you one step closer to understanding the lives you’re researching.
And yes, I firmly believe those moments should be marked with a cup of tea. Biscuits remain optional, although strongly encouraged.
Then, inevitably, the next question presents itself.
Give Yourself Permission to Come Back Later
One lesson I’ve learnt the hard way is that interesting discoveries don’t need to be investigated immediately.
When I’m researching now, I keep a running list of questions that fall outside my current objective. If I discover a possible family connection, an unusual occupation or an entirely separate line that deserves investigation, I write it down. Sometimes it goes into my research log, and increasingly it goes into my evidence matrix alongside future actions. That simple habit allows me to acknowledge the discovery without abandoning the work I was doing.
Those rabbit holes aren’t going anywhere. They’ll still be there tomorrow.
Remember What You’re Trying to Prove
This is something I’ve become particularly conscious of while researching my relative John Hardwicke, who I will introduce you to in an upcoming article. That investigation has taken me into excise minute books, land tax assessments, Treasury records, parish registers and local history resources, any one of which could easily become an entirely separate project. More than once I’ve found myself reading something fascinating before stopping to ask a very simple question.
Will this help answer my research objective?
Sometimes the answer is yes.
Quite often, if I’m honest, the answer is simply, “That’s really interesting.”
There is absolutely nothing wrong with learning something simply because it interests you. After all, curiosity is one of the reasons most of us enjoy family history in the first place. The important thing is recognising when you’re gathering evidence to answer a question and when you’re exploring because you’ve found something that captures your imagination. Both have their place, but they aren’t the same thing.
A Rabbit Hole Worth Falling Into
Ironically, my expedition through the many King Charleses wasn’t a complete waste of time. I never found the grand unifying family connection I’d imagined at the outset, but I did learn something far more useful. Good family history isn’t about following every possible lead. It’s about knowing which leads genuinely move your research forward and having the discipline to leave the others until you’ve answered the question you originally set out to investigate. The rabbit holes will always be there, waiting patiently for another day. The trick is recognising them before they quietly steal an entire weekend.
Although, if you do happen to uncover an astonishing connection between several unrelated King Charleses, I’d obviously love to hear about it. Just don’t blame me if it sends us both off on another completely unnecessary line of enquiry.
I hope these suggestions help you make the most of your own research. If you have techniques that keep you focused or help you untangle particularly stubborn problems, I’d genuinely love to hear them. Family historians are wonderfully inventive, and I’m always interested in discovering a new approach.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I really should follow my own advice. Writing this article has proved to be an excellent way of avoiding the rather substantial pile of research notes currently waiting on my desk. Apparently, procrastination comes in many forms, and writing about family history is every bit as effective as researching it.
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