Years ago, soon after we moved to our present house and shortly after I’d started my family history in earnest, I planted a rose against an old garden wall, because I liked its name: The Rambling Rector. It was beautiful But boy, in the rich loam of our old/ new garden, did that rector ramble. It rambled so much that it started to shut out the sunlight. It grew taller than the apple tree it was supposed to gently clothe. It grabbed and entrapped the unwary and showered us with hefty drops throughout the British summer. Over the years it grew a life of its own, till we began to feel like sleeping beauties in our own garden. At last, when it threatened to crush the ancient wall itself, it had to go. I still feel guilty; maybe if I’d just pruned it…