Editor's note: This the third in a series on Jonathan Chamberlain, or Orem. This week Sgt. Chamberlain finds his family records -- and more -- in Chieveley, England.

When she saw me, she almost fainted.

"You look like my father, John Chamberlain," she exclaimed through sputtering and tears. She invited me in to her home, adding that she recalled that her sister Bessie had given her some letters and a photograph from someone in Utah. She sat me down to eat some of her "Berkshire Laudy" (a raisin bread) while she looked for those items. From the looks of her home, I realized that she might never find them: there was a literal tunnel of tightly rolled newspapers from the front door to the kitchen and stairs. While she continued to search, I went to the churchyard to look at inscriptions on monuments.

Then the cannon of the church came by again, and I felt a need to approach him one more time. When I asked him if I might look at the records kept in the chapel, he asked me, "Are you a Mormon?"

When I said yes, he replied, "I thought so. You are the strangest people. You come here, convert our people to your religion, then take them back to Salt Lake City and lock them up behind that big wall by the lake. Then you come back here and search for their records."

Then, with a smile on his face, he said, "Come in. I'll turn the pages. Don't touch the book with your hands."

In the vestry, he took out a large, weathered, leather-bound volume of Church of England vital records dating back to 1500. As he turned the pages, I recognized the names of my family lines. I copied entries of births and deaths till he grew tired. It was very damp and cold. My own bones ached, and I'm sure his did also. But I had filled a stenographic book with names that connected many families that extended the Chamberlain line back to 1530.

I thanked him and returned to my relative's home across the street. To my surprise, the woman had found the photograph and letters. When I saw the photo of the man with a mustache, I had a distinct impression that I had seen him before, but who was he? I asked her if she knew, but she didn't. I then asked if I could take the photograph out of the frame to see if something were written on the back.

On the back, the caption read, "To Bessie Chamberlain Chievely Near Newbury Berkshire England, From her Cousin, Thomas Chamberlain, Orderville, Utah."

To my knowledge, this was the first picture I had ever seen of my grandfather, who had died 10 years before I was born. She gave me the treasures, and I had time to catch the last bus into Newbury, where I found a place to sleep in a bedroom above a pub. The events of that day were so overwhelming that I could hardly sleep. I was also chilled to the bone and had to ask the landlady-pub keeper for more blankets.

About this time, my local draft board in Kanab reneged on their promise that they would not draft my twin brother when he returned from his mission while our parents were serving a mission in Kentucky. Our family dairy industry was considered vital to the area, and now only my brother Cloyd and his wife were left to manage the family two-man dairy.

The residents of Kanab and surrounding area signed a petition that I be released from the Air Force as soon as possible on a hardship discharge. I also applied for a hardship discharge. But the major in charge forgot to submit my discharge papers, and after a leave home (during which time I married), I returned to England, alone, and was not discharged till three months later.

Using the GI Bill, I earned degrees in guidance and counseling, which became my life's work -- an extension of my personnel work in the Air Force.

Some veterans may wish, on their own, to tape or digital record their memories of military service. These will be transcribed and archived. For instructions on how to do this, e-mail Don Norton, at This e-mail address is being protected from spam bots, you need JavaScript enabled to view it