Victorian childhood is often remembered through stern parents, harsh discipline and children sent out to work. Yet hardship did not erase affection, play or family bonds. Looking beyond the familiar stereotypes reveals childhoods shaped by both necessity and love, and children who found ways to be children even within demanding lives.

Every adult in our family tree was once a child, shaped by the people, places and circumstances surrounding them. Yet children are often among the quietest figures in the historical record, appearing briefly in census returns, school logbooks and faded photographs before seemingly disappearing into adulthood. By looking more closely at the traces they left behind, we can uncover stories of play, work, care, hardship and belonging, and begin to understand not only who our ancestors became, but what it was like to grow up in their world.

What began with childhood questions about old photographs and family stories became a lifelong fascination with the people behind the records. This is the story of how curiosity, grandparents and one life-changing discovery led me from family history to professional research.

Muddy boots, winding lanes, old farm tracks and stories shared with Grandad first taught me that every place has a history. This is the story of how growing up in Devon shaped a lifelong fascination with its people, landscapes and past.

He never set out to teach me history. Through muddy walks, old stories and endless curiosity, Grandad simply taught me to look more closely at the world around me — a childhood gift that would eventually shape the historian I became.

To most people, Killerton is a historic Devon estate. To us, it was a childhood kingdom of ancient trees, conker-filled pockets, Apple Days and endless adventures with Grandad. Looking back, I realise we weren't simply exploring its history, we were quietly becoming part of it.

Some family heirlooms are kept in boxes. Ours had been growing quietly in a Devon woodland for nearly seventy years. When the tree bearing my grandparents’ names disappeared from our family walks, it took an old photograph, discovered after Grandad died, to lead us back to it.