*ahem* YOU GO. To heck with the ones who want to bury the embarrassing bits. Those "embarrassments" can be the blood of life to later generations.

I wish I knew the name of the Scots soldier who was responsible for impregnating my umpty-great grandmother in rural Wales during the Napoleonic Wars. Instead I only know the name of the farmer who obligingly married her and adopted her unborn child. The family mostly but not quite entirely hushed it up, including her place of residence at the time, so I can't even find his regiment.