Many legends have a basis in fact. Such is the case in this next Halloween Tale. There
was a Samuel Shute who was Royal Governor of Massachusetts from 1716 to 1723, and
there was an outbreak of smallpox in Boston over the winter of 1721-1722 that claimed
over 800 lives. Nathaniel Hawthorne wrote a shot story about "Lady Eleanore's Mantle"
which this version is probably based on, and I first heard of this in another of
Edward Rowe Snow's books. I think Snow said he believed Edgar Allen Poe based "The
Masque of the Red Death" on the epidemic as well. It makes me wonder just how disliked
Lady Eleanor (if she were real)must have been to inspire such an unflattering story.
LADY ELEANORE'S MANTLE
LADY ELEANORE ROCHCLIFFE, being orphaned, was admitted to the family of her distant relative, Governor Shute, of Massachusetts Bay, and came to America to take her home with him. She arrived at the gates of Province House, in Boston, in the governor's splendid coach, with outriders and guards, and as the governor went to receive her, a pale young man, with tangled hair, sprang from the crowd and fell in the dust at her feet, offering himself as a footstool for her to tread upon. Her proud face lighted with a smile of scorn, and she put out her hand to stay the governor, who was in the act of striking the fellow with his cane.
"Do not strike him," she said. "When men seek to be trampled, it is a favor they deserve."
For a moment she bore her weight on the prostrate form, "emblem of aristocracy trampling on human sympathies and the kindred of nature," and as she stood there the bell on South Church began to toll for a funeral that was passing at the moment. The crowd started; some looked annoyed; Lady Eleanore remained calm and walked in stately fashion up the passage on the arm of His Excellency. "Who was that insolent fellow?" was asked of Dr. Clarke, the governor's physician.
"Gervase Helwyse," replied the doctor; " a youth of no fortune, but of good mind until he met this lady in London, when he fell in love with her, and her pride and scorn have crazed him."
A few nights after a ball was given in honor of the governor's ward, and Province House was filled with the elect of the city. Commanding in figure, beautiful in face, richly dressed and jewelled, the Lady Eleanore was the admired of the whole assembly, and the women were especially curious to see her mantle, for a rumor went out that it had been made by a dying girl, and had the magic power of giving new beauty to the wearer every time it was put on. While the guests were taking refreshment, a young man stole into the room with a silver goblet, and this he offered on his knee to Lady Eleanore. As she looked down she recognized the face of Helwyse.
"Drink of this sacramental wine," he said, eagerly, "and pass it among the guests."
"Perhaps it is poisoned," whispered a man, and in another moment the liquor was overturned, and Helwyse was roughly dragged away.
"Pray, gentlemen, do not hurt my poor admirer," said the lady, in a tone of languor and condescension that was unusual to her. Breaking from his captives, Helwyse ran back and begged her to cast her mantle into the fire. She replied by throwing a fold of it above her head and smiling as she said, "Farewell. Remember me as you see me now."
Helwyse shook his head sadly and submitted to be led away. The weariness in Eleanore's manner increased; a flush was burning on her cheek; her laugh had grown infrequent. Dr. Clarke whispered something in the governor's ear that made that gentleman start and look alarmed. It was announced that an unforeseen circumstance made it necessary to close the festival at once, and the company went home. A few days after the city was thrown into a panic by an outbreak of small-pox, a disease that in those times could not be prevented nor often cured, and that gathered its victims by thousands. Graves were dug in rows, and every night the earth was piled hastily on fresh corpses. Before all infected houses hung a red flag of warning, and Province House was the first to show it, for the plague had come to town in Lady Eleanore's mantle. The people cursed her pride and pointed to the flags as her triumphal banners. The pestilence was at its height when Gervase Helwyse appeared in Province House. There were none to stay him now, and he climbed the stairs, peering from room to room, until he entered a darkened chamber, where something stirred feebly under a silken coverlet and a faint voice begged for water. Helwyse tore apart the curtains and exclaimed, " Fie! What does such a thing as you in Lady Eleanore's apartment?"
The figure on the bed tried to hide its hideous face. "Do not look on me," it cried. "I am cursed for my pride that I wrapped about me as a mantle. You are avenged. I am Eleanore Rochcliffe."
The lunatic stared for a moment, then the house echoed with his laughter. The deadly mantle lay on a chair. He snatched it up, and waving also the red flag of the pestilence ran into the street. In a short time an effigy wrapped in the mantle was borne to Province House and set on fire by a mob. From that hour the pest abated and soon disappeared, though graves and scars made a bitter memory of it for many a year. Unhappiest of all was the disfigured creature who wandered amid the shadows of Province House, never showing her face, unloved, avoided, lonely.-
Charles Montgomery Skinner Myths and Legends of Our Own Land: Vol. I (Google eBook) J.B. Lippincott, 1896 Philadelphia Pa pp253-256
Saturday, October 19, 2013
Wednesday, October 16, 2013
HALLOWEEN TALES5: NIX'S MATE
This Halloween Tale is one of my favorites because I've actually seen Nix's
Mate Island. Back when I was a kid I wan an avid reader of books by author
Edward Rowe Snow. He wrote many books about New England history, folktales
and catastrophes. One of the books was The Islands of Boston Harbor, which
included a section on Nix's Mate. Years later, when I was in high school, I took
a cruise of Boston Harbor for the staffs of high school newspapers which was
sponsored by the Quincy Patriot Ledger newspaper and was hosted by Mr.Snow
who was writing a weekly column for the paper. So I got to hear him retell the
story as the boat sailed by the very small island. I've never forgotten that trip,
and I have four of Snow's books among my book collection now as an adult,
including The Islands of Boston Harbor.
It should be noted that history tell us the reason the island has shrunk from
twelve acres down to one was that colonists mined the island for shale and
for rocks to use as ballast for ships.
But really, this story is so much spookier!
NIX'S MATE
The black, pyramidal beacon, called Nix's Mate, is well known to yachtsmen, sailors, and excursionists in Boston harbor. It rises above a shoal,—all that is left of a fair, green island which long ago disappeared in the sea. In 1636 it had an extent of twelve acres, and on its highest point was a gallows where pirates were hanged in chains. One night cries were heard on board of a ship that lay at anchor a little way off shore, and when the watch put off, to see what might be amiss, the captain, named Nix, was found murdered in his bed. There was no direct evidence in the case, and no motive could be assigned for the deed, unless it was the expectancy of promotion on the part of the mate, in case of his commander's death. It was found, however, that this possibility gave significance to certain acts and sayings of that officer during the voyage, and on circumstantial evidence so slight as this he was convicted and sentenced to death. As he was led to execution he swore that he was not guilty, as he had done before, and from the scaffold he cried aloud, " God, show that I am innocent. Let this island sink and prove to these people that I have never stained my hands with human blood." Soon after the execution of his sentence it was noticed that the surf was going higher on the shore, that certain rocks were no longer uncovered at low tide, and in time the island wasted away. The colonists looked with awe on this manifestation and confessed that God had shown their wrong.
Charles Montgomery Skinner Myths and Legends of Our Own Land: Vol. I (Google eBook) J.B. Lippincott, 1896 Philadelphia Pa pp308-309
Mate Island. Back when I was a kid I wan an avid reader of books by author
Edward Rowe Snow. He wrote many books about New England history, folktales
and catastrophes. One of the books was The Islands of Boston Harbor, which
included a section on Nix's Mate. Years later, when I was in high school, I took
a cruise of Boston Harbor for the staffs of high school newspapers which was
sponsored by the Quincy Patriot Ledger newspaper and was hosted by Mr.Snow
who was writing a weekly column for the paper. So I got to hear him retell the
story as the boat sailed by the very small island. I've never forgotten that trip,
and I have four of Snow's books among my book collection now as an adult,
including The Islands of Boston Harbor.
It should be noted that history tell us the reason the island has shrunk from
twelve acres down to one was that colonists mined the island for shale and
for rocks to use as ballast for ships.
But really, this story is so much spookier!
NIX'S MATE
The black, pyramidal beacon, called Nix's Mate, is well known to yachtsmen, sailors, and excursionists in Boston harbor. It rises above a shoal,—all that is left of a fair, green island which long ago disappeared in the sea. In 1636 it had an extent of twelve acres, and on its highest point was a gallows where pirates were hanged in chains. One night cries were heard on board of a ship that lay at anchor a little way off shore, and when the watch put off, to see what might be amiss, the captain, named Nix, was found murdered in his bed. There was no direct evidence in the case, and no motive could be assigned for the deed, unless it was the expectancy of promotion on the part of the mate, in case of his commander's death. It was found, however, that this possibility gave significance to certain acts and sayings of that officer during the voyage, and on circumstantial evidence so slight as this he was convicted and sentenced to death. As he was led to execution he swore that he was not guilty, as he had done before, and from the scaffold he cried aloud, " God, show that I am innocent. Let this island sink and prove to these people that I have never stained my hands with human blood." Soon after the execution of his sentence it was noticed that the surf was going higher on the shore, that certain rocks were no longer uncovered at low tide, and in time the island wasted away. The colonists looked with awe on this manifestation and confessed that God had shown their wrong.
Charles Montgomery Skinner Myths and Legends of Our Own Land: Vol. I (Google eBook) J.B. Lippincott, 1896 Philadelphia Pa pp308-309
Tuesday, October 15, 2013
HALLOWEEN TALES4: PETER RUGG
Tonight's Halloween Tale is a story I first read about when I was in the third
or fourth grade. I remember checking out a book of American folk tales at the
Codman Square library in Boston and this was one of the stories from New
England. I was a bit skeptical about it because that was in the 1950's and I
thought someone driving a horse and carriage around on the highways would
certainly make the news in the age of automobiles.
But maybe Peter and his daughter have modernized and are in a beat up old
VW Beetle nowadays?
PETER RUGG, THE MISSING MAN
THE idea of long wandering as a penalty, symbolized in "The Wandering Jew," "The Flying Dutchman," and the character of Kundry, in "Parsifal," has application in the legend of Peter Rugg. This strange man, who lived in Middle Street, Boston, with his wife and daughter, was esteemed as a person of probity and good manners except in his swearing fits, for he was subject to outbursts of passion, when he would kick his way through doors instead of opening them, bite tenpenny nails in two, and curse his wig off. In the autumn of 1770 he visited Concord, with his little girl, and on the way home was overtaken by a violent storm. He took shelter with a friend at Menotomy, who urged him to stay all night, for the rain was falling heavier every moment; but Rugg would not be stayed, and seeing that there was no hope of a dry journey back to town he roared a fearful oath and cried, " Let the storm increase. I will see home to-night in spite of it, or may I never see home!" With that he tossed the child into the open chaise, leaped in after her, lashed his horse, and was off.
Several nights afterward, while Rugg's neighbors were out with lanterns trying to discover the cause of a heavy jarring that had begun to disturb them in bad weather, the excitable gentleman, who had not been seen since his Concord visit, came whirling along the pavement in his carriage, his daughter beside him, his black horse plunging on in spite of his efforts to stop him. The lanterns that for a moment twinkled in Peter's face showed him as a wet and weary man, with eyes turned up longingly at the windows where his wife awaited him; then he was gone, and the ground trembled as with an earthquake, while the rain fell more heavily.
Mrs. Rugg died within a twelvemonth, and Peter never reached home, but from all parts of New England came stories of a man and child driving rapidly along the highways, never stopping except to inquire the way to Boston. Half of the time the man would be headed in a direction opposite to the one he seemed to want to follow, and when set right would cry that he was being deceived, and was sometimes heard to mutter, "No home to-night." In Hartford, Providence, Newburyport, and among the New Hampshire hills the anxious face of the man became known, and he was referred to as "the stormbreeder," for so surely as he passed there would be rain, wind, lightning, thunder, and darkness within the hour.
Some years ago a man in a Connecticut town stopped this hurrying traveller, who said, in reply to a question, "I have lost the road to Boston. My name is Peter Rugg." Then Rugg's disappearance half a century before was cited by those who had long memories, and people began to look askant at Peter and gave him generous road room when they met him. The toll-taker on Charlestown bridge declared that he had been annoyed and alarmed by a prodigious tramping of hoofs and rattling of wheels that seemed to pass toward Boston before his very face, yet he could see nothing. He took courage one night to plant himself in the middle of the bridge with a three-legged stool, and when the sound approached he dimly saw a large black horse driven by a weary looking man with a child beside him. The stool was flung at the horse's head, but passed through the animal as through smoke and skipped across the floor of the bridge. Thus much the tollcollector said, but when asked if Rugg had appeared again he made no reply.- Charles Montgomery Skinner Myths and Legends of Our Own Land: Vol. I
(Google eBook) J.B. Lippincott, 1896 Philadelphia Pa pp244-246
or fourth grade. I remember checking out a book of American folk tales at the
Codman Square library in Boston and this was one of the stories from New
England. I was a bit skeptical about it because that was in the 1950's and I
thought someone driving a horse and carriage around on the highways would
certainly make the news in the age of automobiles.
But maybe Peter and his daughter have modernized and are in a beat up old
VW Beetle nowadays?
PETER RUGG, THE MISSING MAN
THE idea of long wandering as a penalty, symbolized in "The Wandering Jew," "The Flying Dutchman," and the character of Kundry, in "Parsifal," has application in the legend of Peter Rugg. This strange man, who lived in Middle Street, Boston, with his wife and daughter, was esteemed as a person of probity and good manners except in his swearing fits, for he was subject to outbursts of passion, when he would kick his way through doors instead of opening them, bite tenpenny nails in two, and curse his wig off. In the autumn of 1770 he visited Concord, with his little girl, and on the way home was overtaken by a violent storm. He took shelter with a friend at Menotomy, who urged him to stay all night, for the rain was falling heavier every moment; but Rugg would not be stayed, and seeing that there was no hope of a dry journey back to town he roared a fearful oath and cried, " Let the storm increase. I will see home to-night in spite of it, or may I never see home!" With that he tossed the child into the open chaise, leaped in after her, lashed his horse, and was off.
Several nights afterward, while Rugg's neighbors were out with lanterns trying to discover the cause of a heavy jarring that had begun to disturb them in bad weather, the excitable gentleman, who had not been seen since his Concord visit, came whirling along the pavement in his carriage, his daughter beside him, his black horse plunging on in spite of his efforts to stop him. The lanterns that for a moment twinkled in Peter's face showed him as a wet and weary man, with eyes turned up longingly at the windows where his wife awaited him; then he was gone, and the ground trembled as with an earthquake, while the rain fell more heavily.
Mrs. Rugg died within a twelvemonth, and Peter never reached home, but from all parts of New England came stories of a man and child driving rapidly along the highways, never stopping except to inquire the way to Boston. Half of the time the man would be headed in a direction opposite to the one he seemed to want to follow, and when set right would cry that he was being deceived, and was sometimes heard to mutter, "No home to-night." In Hartford, Providence, Newburyport, and among the New Hampshire hills the anxious face of the man became known, and he was referred to as "the stormbreeder," for so surely as he passed there would be rain, wind, lightning, thunder, and darkness within the hour.
Some years ago a man in a Connecticut town stopped this hurrying traveller, who said, in reply to a question, "I have lost the road to Boston. My name is Peter Rugg." Then Rugg's disappearance half a century before was cited by those who had long memories, and people began to look askant at Peter and gave him generous road room when they met him. The toll-taker on Charlestown bridge declared that he had been annoyed and alarmed by a prodigious tramping of hoofs and rattling of wheels that seemed to pass toward Boston before his very face, yet he could see nothing. He took courage one night to plant himself in the middle of the bridge with a three-legged stool, and when the sound approached he dimly saw a large black horse driven by a weary looking man with a child beside him. The stool was flung at the horse's head, but passed through the animal as through smoke and skipped across the floor of the bridge. Thus much the tollcollector said, but when asked if Rugg had appeared again he made no reply.- Charles Montgomery Skinner Myths and Legends of Our Own Land: Vol. I
(Google eBook) J.B. Lippincott, 1896 Philadelphia Pa pp244-246
Monday, October 14, 2013
THE 2013 NEW ENGLAND GENEABLOGGERS BASH
On Sunday I got into my car Ping II (AKA Pingzinga) and set out for this year's
New England Geneabloggers Bash at Sara Campbell's place on Cape Cod. I took
the old prehighway route down on Rte 18 to Rte 105 to Rte 6 and then the MidCape
Highway. While it was overcast here in Abington the further south I drove the
brighter the skies became. I've driven the northern stretch of 105 before but
the stretch I drove Sunday was a revelation with some nice scenery, a lot
more farms than I expected, and some very large lakes. I also passed about
four or five cemeteries that I will try to visit in the coming weeks.
I reached Sara's cottage about midday, and by that time the weather was
sunny and milder than I expected for Cape Cod at this time of year. There
were fewer people there this year; many of those who attended last year were
unable to be there this year because of trips abroad or prior commitments. But
while the gathering was smaller it was just as much fun as last year. There was good
food and good conversation as we talked about things that sometimes make our
non-genealogist friends' and families' glaze over when we try to describe just what
it is we find so interesting about family histories. We even had Heather Wilkinson
Rojo checking in with us from Spain via Skype. I spent the afternoon swapping
stories with Sara Campbell. Erica Voolich, Diane MacLean Boumenot, Barbara
Proko, Bevlynn Gallant, and Jill Bowden.
On the drive home I took the highway most of the way home until I hit the Rte 44
exit and got off there for a pit stop. From there I took the back roads home which
got me to Hanson, Ma. where I stopped long enough to take a picture of a beautiful
sunset before continuing on home.
A perfect ending to a great day!
New England Geneabloggers Bash at Sara Campbell's place on Cape Cod. I took
the old prehighway route down on Rte 18 to Rte 105 to Rte 6 and then the MidCape
Highway. While it was overcast here in Abington the further south I drove the
brighter the skies became. I've driven the northern stretch of 105 before but
the stretch I drove Sunday was a revelation with some nice scenery, a lot
more farms than I expected, and some very large lakes. I also passed about
four or five cemeteries that I will try to visit in the coming weeks.
I reached Sara's cottage about midday, and by that time the weather was
sunny and milder than I expected for Cape Cod at this time of year. There
were fewer people there this year; many of those who attended last year were
unable to be there this year because of trips abroad or prior commitments. But
while the gathering was smaller it was just as much fun as last year. There was good
food and good conversation as we talked about things that sometimes make our
non-genealogist friends' and families' glaze over when we try to describe just what
it is we find so interesting about family histories. We even had Heather Wilkinson
Rojo checking in with us from Spain via Skype. I spent the afternoon swapping
stories with Sara Campbell. Erica Voolich, Diane MacLean Boumenot, Barbara
Proko, Bevlynn Gallant, and Jill Bowden.
On the drive home I took the highway most of the way home until I hit the Rte 44
exit and got off there for a pit stop. From there I took the back roads home which
got me to Hanson, Ma. where I stopped long enough to take a picture of a beautiful
sunset before continuing on home.
A perfect ending to a great day!
Saturday, October 12, 2013
HALLOWEEN TALES3: THE SHRIEKING WOMAN
Some people might not be aware that quite a few pirates roamed the coast
of New England in the early colonial period. Tonight's Halloween Tale
is short but not so sweet, and comes from the coastal town of Marblehead:
THE SHRIEKING WOMAN
During the latter part of the seventeenth century a Spanish ship, richly laden, was beset off Marblehead by English pirates, who killed every person on board, at the time of the capture, except a beautiful English lady, a passenger on the ship, who was brought ashore at night and brutally murdered at a ledge of rocks near Oakum Bay. As the fishermen who lived near were absent in their boats, the women and children, who were startled from their sleep by her piercing shrieks, dared not attempt a rescue. Taking her a little way from shore in their boat, the pirates flung her into the sea, and as she came to the surface and clutched the gunwale they hewed at her hands with cutlasses. She was heard to cry, "Lord, save me! Mercy! O, Lord Jesus, save me!" Next day the people found her mangled body on the rocks, and, with bitter imprecations at the worse than beasts that had done this wrong, they prepared it for burial. It was interred where it was found, but, although it was committed to the earth with Christian forms, for one hundred and fifty years the victim's cries and appeals were repeated, on each anniversary of the crime, with such distinctness as to affright all who heard them—and most of the citizens of Marblehead claimed to be of that number.-
Charles Montgomery Skinner Myths and Legends of Our Own Land: Vol. I (Google eBook) J.B. Lippincott, 1896 Philadelphia Pa p313
of New England in the early colonial period. Tonight's Halloween Tale
is short but not so sweet, and comes from the coastal town of Marblehead:
THE SHRIEKING WOMAN
During the latter part of the seventeenth century a Spanish ship, richly laden, was beset off Marblehead by English pirates, who killed every person on board, at the time of the capture, except a beautiful English lady, a passenger on the ship, who was brought ashore at night and brutally murdered at a ledge of rocks near Oakum Bay. As the fishermen who lived near were absent in their boats, the women and children, who were startled from their sleep by her piercing shrieks, dared not attempt a rescue. Taking her a little way from shore in their boat, the pirates flung her into the sea, and as she came to the surface and clutched the gunwale they hewed at her hands with cutlasses. She was heard to cry, "Lord, save me! Mercy! O, Lord Jesus, save me!" Next day the people found her mangled body on the rocks, and, with bitter imprecations at the worse than beasts that had done this wrong, they prepared it for burial. It was interred where it was found, but, although it was committed to the earth with Christian forms, for one hundred and fifty years the victim's cries and appeals were repeated, on each anniversary of the crime, with such distinctness as to affright all who heard them—and most of the citizens of Marblehead claimed to be of that number.-
Charles Montgomery Skinner Myths and Legends of Our Own Land: Vol. I (Google eBook) J.B. Lippincott, 1896 Philadelphia Pa p313
Thursday, October 10, 2013
HALLOWEEN TALES2: AUNT RACHEL'S CURSE.
Tonight's Halloween Tale from Charles Montgomery Skinner's Myths and Legends of Our Own Land: Vol. I teaches a valuable lesson:never give any guff to an angry old lady with
psychic powers.
AUNT RACHEL'S CURSE
ON a headland near Plymouth lived "Aunt Rachel," a reputed seer, who made a scant livelihood by forecasting the future for such seagoing people as had crossed her palm. The crew of a certain brig came to see her on the day before sailing, and she reproached one of the lads for keeping bad company. "Avast, there, granny," interrupted another, who took the chiding to himself. "None of your slack, or I'll put a stopper on your gab." The old woman sprang erect. Levelling her skinny finger at the man, she screamed, " Moon cursers! You have set false beacons and wrecked ships for plunder. It was your fathers and mothers who decoyed a brig to these sands and left me childless and a widow. He who rides the pale horse be your guide, and you be of the number who follow him!"
That night old Rachel's house was burned, and she barely escaped with her life, but when it was time for the brig to sail she took her place among the townfolk who were to see it off. The owner of the brig tried to console her for the loss of the house. "I need it no longer," she answered, "for the narrow house will soon be mine, and you wretches cannot burn that. But you! Who will console you for the loss of your brig?"
"My brig is stanch. She has already passed the worst shoal in the bay."
"But she carries a curse. She cannot swim long."
As each successive rock and bar was passed the old woman leaned forward, her hand shaking, her gray locks flying, her eyes starting, her lips mumbling maledictions," like an evil spirit, chiding forth the storms as ministers of vengeance." The last shoal was passed, the merchant sighed with relief at seeing the vessel now safely on her course, when the woman uttered a harsh cry, and raised her hand as if to command silence until something happened that she evidently expected. For this the onlookers had not long to wait: the brig halted and trembled—her sails shook in the wind, her crew were seen trying to free the cutter—then she careened and sank until only her mast-heads stood out of the water. Most of the company ran for boats and lines, and few saw Rachel pitch forward on the earth—dead, with a fierce smile of exultation on her face. The rescuers came back with all the crew, save one—the man who had challenged the old woman and revengefully burned her cabin. Rachel's body was buried where her house had stood, and the rock— before unknown—where the brig had broken long bore the name of Rachel's Curse.
Charles Montgomery Skinner Myths and Legends of Our Own Land: Vol. I (Google eBook) J.B. Lippincott, 1896 Philadelphia Pa pp306-307
psychic powers.
AUNT RACHEL'S CURSE
ON a headland near Plymouth lived "Aunt Rachel," a reputed seer, who made a scant livelihood by forecasting the future for such seagoing people as had crossed her palm. The crew of a certain brig came to see her on the day before sailing, and she reproached one of the lads for keeping bad company. "Avast, there, granny," interrupted another, who took the chiding to himself. "None of your slack, or I'll put a stopper on your gab." The old woman sprang erect. Levelling her skinny finger at the man, she screamed, " Moon cursers! You have set false beacons and wrecked ships for plunder. It was your fathers and mothers who decoyed a brig to these sands and left me childless and a widow. He who rides the pale horse be your guide, and you be of the number who follow him!"
That night old Rachel's house was burned, and she barely escaped with her life, but when it was time for the brig to sail she took her place among the townfolk who were to see it off. The owner of the brig tried to console her for the loss of the house. "I need it no longer," she answered, "for the narrow house will soon be mine, and you wretches cannot burn that. But you! Who will console you for the loss of your brig?"
"My brig is stanch. She has already passed the worst shoal in the bay."
"But she carries a curse. She cannot swim long."
As each successive rock and bar was passed the old woman leaned forward, her hand shaking, her gray locks flying, her eyes starting, her lips mumbling maledictions," like an evil spirit, chiding forth the storms as ministers of vengeance." The last shoal was passed, the merchant sighed with relief at seeing the vessel now safely on her course, when the woman uttered a harsh cry, and raised her hand as if to command silence until something happened that she evidently expected. For this the onlookers had not long to wait: the brig halted and trembled—her sails shook in the wind, her crew were seen trying to free the cutter—then she careened and sank until only her mast-heads stood out of the water. Most of the company ran for boats and lines, and few saw Rachel pitch forward on the earth—dead, with a fierce smile of exultation on her face. The rescuers came back with all the crew, save one—the man who had challenged the old woman and revengefully burned her cabin. Rachel's body was buried where her house had stood, and the rock— before unknown—where the brig had broken long bore the name of Rachel's Curse.
Charles Montgomery Skinner Myths and Legends of Our Own Land: Vol. I (Google eBook) J.B. Lippincott, 1896 Philadelphia Pa pp306-307
Wednesday, October 09, 2013
HALLOWEEN TALES: MOTHER CREWE
I thought for Halloween this year I'd post some old scary legends and folktales of
New England. So I did a Google search and came up with a collection of stories by
Charles Montgomery Skinner published back in 1896. I can't say for sure how
historically accurate any of these stories are, but they are important because they
give us a glimpse at the culture of the time and the stories our ancestors told
in front of their fireplaces to entertain each other at the end of the day. When you
read these, see if you can hear in your mind the voice of someone telling the tale.
The first of the stories tells about a legendary figure from Plymouth, Ma.
MOTHER CREWE
MOTHER CREWE was of evil repute in Plymouth in the last century. It was said that she had taken pay for luring a girl into her old farm-house, where a man lay dead of small-pox, with intent to harm her beauty; she was accused of blighting land and driving ships ashore with spells; in brief, she was called a witch, and people, even those who affected to ignore the craft of wizardry, were content to keep away from her. When the Revolution ended, Southward Howland demanded Dame Crewe's house and acre, claiming under law of entail, though primogeniture had been little enforced in America, where there was room and to spare for all. But Howland was stubborn and the woman's house had good situation, so one day he rode to her door and summoned her with a tap of his whip.
"What do you here on my land?" said he.
"I live on land that is my own. I cleared it, built my house here, and no other has claim to it."
"Then I lay claim. The place is mine. I shall tear your cabin down on Friday."
"On Friday they'll dig your grave on Burying Hill. I see the shadow closing round you."
"Bah! You have heard what I have said. If on Friday you are not elsewhere, I'll tear the timbers down and bury you in the ruins."
"Enough!" cried the woman, her form straightening, her voice grown shrill. "My curse is on you here and hereafter. Die! Then go down to hell!"
As she said this the cat leaped from her shoulder to the flank of the horse, spitting and clawing, and the frightened steed set off at a furious pace. As he disappeared in the scrub oaks his master was seen vainly trying to stop him. The evening closed in with fog and chill, and before the light waned a man faring homeward came upon the corpse of Southward Howland stretched along the ground. -
Charles Montgomery Skinner Myths and Legends of Our Own Land: Vol. I (Google eBook) J.B. Lippincott, 1896 Philadelphia Pa pp304-305
New England. So I did a Google search and came up with a collection of stories by
Charles Montgomery Skinner published back in 1896. I can't say for sure how
historically accurate any of these stories are, but they are important because they
give us a glimpse at the culture of the time and the stories our ancestors told
in front of their fireplaces to entertain each other at the end of the day. When you
read these, see if you can hear in your mind the voice of someone telling the tale.
The first of the stories tells about a legendary figure from Plymouth, Ma.
MOTHER CREWE
MOTHER CREWE was of evil repute in Plymouth in the last century. It was said that she had taken pay for luring a girl into her old farm-house, where a man lay dead of small-pox, with intent to harm her beauty; she was accused of blighting land and driving ships ashore with spells; in brief, she was called a witch, and people, even those who affected to ignore the craft of wizardry, were content to keep away from her. When the Revolution ended, Southward Howland demanded Dame Crewe's house and acre, claiming under law of entail, though primogeniture had been little enforced in America, where there was room and to spare for all. But Howland was stubborn and the woman's house had good situation, so one day he rode to her door and summoned her with a tap of his whip.
"What do you here on my land?" said he.
"I live on land that is my own. I cleared it, built my house here, and no other has claim to it."
"Then I lay claim. The place is mine. I shall tear your cabin down on Friday."
"On Friday they'll dig your grave on Burying Hill. I see the shadow closing round you."
"Bah! You have heard what I have said. If on Friday you are not elsewhere, I'll tear the timbers down and bury you in the ruins."
"Enough!" cried the woman, her form straightening, her voice grown shrill. "My curse is on you here and hereafter. Die! Then go down to hell!"
As she said this the cat leaped from her shoulder to the flank of the horse, spitting and clawing, and the frightened steed set off at a furious pace. As he disappeared in the scrub oaks his master was seen vainly trying to stop him. The evening closed in with fog and chill, and before the light waned a man faring homeward came upon the corpse of Southward Howland stretched along the ground. -
Charles Montgomery Skinner Myths and Legends of Our Own Land: Vol. I (Google eBook) J.B. Lippincott, 1896 Philadelphia Pa pp304-305
THE FIFTH ANNUAL GREAT GENEALOGY POETRY CHALLENGE REMINDER!
Just a reminder about the approaching deadline and submission rules
for the Fifth Annual Great Genealogy Poetry Challenge:
As in the past , I'll be posting the links to the submissions on Thanksgiving Day,
which this year falls on Thursday, November 27th. Deadline for submissions
will be a week before, on Thursday, November 20th. That gives everyone three
months from today to find (or write) and share their poem or song. If you
find one long before that deadline, you can post it on your blog now if you
wish, just don't forget to send me the link to it before November 20th!
These are the Challenge rules:
1. Find a poem by a local poet, famous or obscure, from the region
one of your ancestors lived in. It can be about an historical event, a
legend, a person, or even about some place (like a river)or a local
animal. It can even be a poem you or one of your ancestors have written!
0r if you prefer, post the lyrics of a song or a link to a video of someone
performing the song.
2. Post the poem or song to your blog (remembering to cite the source
where you found it.)
3.Tell us how the subject of the poem or song relates to your ancestor's
home or life, or the area of the country where they lived.
4.Submit your post's link here to me by midnight Thursday, November 20th
and I'll publish all links to the entries on Thanksgiving Day, November 27th!
If you submit a humorous poem or song that will be entered under the
"Willy Puckerbrush" division. Willy was the late geneablogger Terry
Thornton's alias for some humorous posts and comments.
So there's about a month and a half left to the deadline. I've already gotten
some great entries, and hope to see more soon!
for the Fifth Annual Great Genealogy Poetry Challenge:
As in the past , I'll be posting the links to the submissions on Thanksgiving Day,
which this year falls on Thursday, November 27th. Deadline for submissions
will be a week before, on Thursday, November 20th. That gives everyone three
months from today to find (or write) and share their poem or song. If you
find one long before that deadline, you can post it on your blog now if you
wish, just don't forget to send me the link to it before November 20th!
These are the Challenge rules:
1. Find a poem by a local poet, famous or obscure, from the region
one of your ancestors lived in. It can be about an historical event, a
legend, a person, or even about some place (like a river)or a local
animal. It can even be a poem you or one of your ancestors have written!
0r if you prefer, post the lyrics of a song or a link to a video of someone
performing the song.
2. Post the poem or song to your blog (remembering to cite the source
where you found it.)
3.Tell us how the subject of the poem or song relates to your ancestor's
home or life, or the area of the country where they lived.
4.Submit your post's link here to me by midnight Thursday, November 20th
and I'll publish all links to the entries on Thanksgiving Day, November 27th!
If you submit a humorous poem or song that will be entered under the
"Willy Puckerbrush" division. Willy was the late geneablogger Terry
Thornton's alias for some humorous posts and comments.
So there's about a month and a half left to the deadline. I've already gotten
some great entries, and hope to see more soon!
Friday, October 04, 2013
MEMORIES OF MALDEN
My first childhood home was in Malden, Ma. It was a two family house at 37 Beach
St. near the corner of Clapp St. That part of Malden is on the southern end of the
city near Linden Square and close to the border of the neighboring city of Revere
to the west. My parents were co-owners with Uncle Ed(Mom's brother) and Aunt Emily;
we lived on the second floor and they lived on the first.
My maternal grandmother Agnes(McFarland) White lived with us and watched us
during the day when my parents were working. I have a few memories of Nanny: I
remember she used to eat peas by lining them up along the blade of a knife and them
rolling down them into her mouth. I also remember the day a roof repairman fell off
the roof while shingling it and landed in the grass a few feet away from the white
picket fence that separated our property from our next door neighbors' the Coriellis.(sp?)
We were in the kitchen and something went past the window. I got one quick glimpse
of the man on the ground and then Nanny pulled me away from the window. (The man
survived his fall.)
We lived in a mostly Italian neighborhood. The Corielli's lived to the left of our house
on the corner of Clapp St. The father and mother were Vincent and Jo (I think short
for Josephine?) and they had three sons, one and older boy whose name I don't
remember, and the twins, Ronnie and Richie who I played with. To the right lived
the Todescos, Pat and Rose, who had an older daughter and their son, Mike, another
playmate. Pat owned a shoe repair shop in Linden Square. Across Beach St from
our house was a small grocery store run by a man named Johnny.
One of the things I recall was that besides the Corielli twins, there were three
other sets in the neighborhood: the Tadonio twins, Madeline and Marie who lived
on Clapp St and whose backyard ordered ours, the Randall brothers, and the Higgins
twins, a boy and girl.
Our back yard had a little dip in the middle of it and a large lilac bush at the back. You
could see over a wire fence into a row of other backyards that bordered ours and
the Todesco's. I remember chasing fireflies in the yard and listening to Aunt Emily's
own Uncle Luigi playing mandolin and singing at some family party.
That was the house where we were living when my sister was born. Our parents
let me name her and I named her Cheryl after a little girl I had a crush on in
the ABC Nursery School.
That was the house where we had the first family dog, a fox terrier named Saddles
that had belonged to my parents before I was born. Saddles lost a dog fight with a
larger dog and was bitten so badly he died.
We were living there during one of big hurricanes of the mid 1950's. The street was
flooded by the overflowing Linden Creek and Dad was working in Boston at the time.
Mom didn't think he'd be home that night, but he was driving one of the old Pontiacs
with a high engine block, and he managed to get home by driving down Beach St behind someone's motorboat. Not long after that, Dad bought a new 1956 black and red Olds
98.
And that was where we were living when my grandmother passed away. She'd had a weak heart from the rheumatic fever she 'd had in her childhood. Shortly after that my parents
sold their half of the house to my Uncle and Aunt and we moved to Boston.
I was 8 years old when we moved away from there 57 years ago. One of these days I may
take a ride over there to see what 37 Beach St. looks like today.
St. near the corner of Clapp St. That part of Malden is on the southern end of the
city near Linden Square and close to the border of the neighboring city of Revere
to the west. My parents were co-owners with Uncle Ed(Mom's brother) and Aunt Emily;
we lived on the second floor and they lived on the first.
 |
| Mom shoveling snow in the driveway we shared with the Tedesco family. |
 |
| Me standing to the left, my cousin Winnie sitting on the car. |
My maternal grandmother Agnes(McFarland) White lived with us and watched us
during the day when my parents were working. I have a few memories of Nanny: I
remember she used to eat peas by lining them up along the blade of a knife and them
rolling down them into her mouth. I also remember the day a roof repairman fell off
the roof while shingling it and landed in the grass a few feet away from the white
picket fence that separated our property from our next door neighbors' the Coriellis.(sp?)
We were in the kitchen and something went past the window. I got one quick glimpse
of the man on the ground and then Nanny pulled me away from the window. (The man
survived his fall.)
 |
| My maternal grandmother Agnes (McFarland) White. |
We lived in a mostly Italian neighborhood. The Corielli's lived to the left of our house
on the corner of Clapp St. The father and mother were Vincent and Jo (I think short
for Josephine?) and they had three sons, one and older boy whose name I don't
remember, and the twins, Ronnie and Richie who I played with. To the right lived
the Todescos, Pat and Rose, who had an older daughter and their son, Mike, another
playmate. Pat owned a shoe repair shop in Linden Square. Across Beach St from
our house was a small grocery store run by a man named Johnny.
One of the things I recall was that besides the Corielli twins, there were three
other sets in the neighborhood: the Tadonio twins, Madeline and Marie who lived
on Clapp St and whose backyard ordered ours, the Randall brothers, and the Higgins
twins, a boy and girl.
 |
| The view across the backyard towards the Tadonio house. |
Our back yard had a little dip in the middle of it and a large lilac bush at the back. You
could see over a wire fence into a row of other backyards that bordered ours and
the Todesco's. I remember chasing fireflies in the yard and listening to Aunt Emily's
own Uncle Luigi playing mandolin and singing at some family party.
 |
| The other side of the yard. |
That was the house where we were living when my sister was born. Our parents
let me name her and I named her Cheryl after a little girl I had a crush on in
the ABC Nursery School.
That was the house where we had the first family dog, a fox terrier named Saddles
that had belonged to my parents before I was born. Saddles lost a dog fight with a
larger dog and was bitten so badly he died.
 |
| Saddles, the first family dog. |
flooded by the overflowing Linden Creek and Dad was working in Boston at the time.
Mom didn't think he'd be home that night, but he was driving one of the old Pontiacs
with a high engine block, and he managed to get home by driving down Beach St behind someone's motorboat. Not long after that, Dad bought a new 1956 black and red Olds
98.
And that was where we were living when my grandmother passed away. She'd had a weak heart from the rheumatic fever she 'd had in her childhood. Shortly after that my parents
sold their half of the house to my Uncle and Aunt and we moved to Boston.
I was 8 years old when we moved away from there 57 years ago. One of these days I may
take a ride over there to see what 37 Beach St. looks like today.
Friday, September 27, 2013
THE GENEALOGY ROADSHOW DEBUTS
One of the common critiques of the Who Do You Think You Are? program has
been the use of celebrities. I've often seen comments and posts from people
wishing that WDYTYA would do shows centered around "everyday" people.
Then last Spring PBS announced a new program, The Genealogy Roadshow,
that would do just that. It premiered Monday night.
The format is very much like its sister program The Antiques Roadshow: there
are several longer segments involving interesting stories interspersed with
shorter segments. Those longer segments included a few minutes of background
information on the historical figures to whom people thought they might
be related, such as Davy Crockett and Jesse James. Just as on Antiques Roadshow,
some theories were disproved and some were confirmed. Two experienced
genealogists, Kenyatta Berry and Joshua Taylor, did a great job of presenting
the evidence and conclusions reached by the show's researchers. Overall, I thought
the show was well done and enjoyable.
Not everyone in the online genealogy community agreed. Some complained there
were too many people covered and thought two or three cases for the hour would
be better. Others wanted more emphasis on showing the research process. And
others just plain out didn't like the whole format. I certainly didn't expect everyone
to like the show, so I wasn't surprised at most of the criticism, but there were a very few
whose remarks were over the line into nitpicking territory.
The Genealogy Roadshow is a limited run series with three more episodes yet to air.
Whether it gets renewed or not for a second season depends on the ratings and the
reception by the general public. So while some genealogists want less emphasis on
confirming famous relatives and more on research methods, it's important for us
to remember that the show's future depends on its appeal to that general audience.
They want to be entertained, not educated about every step in genealogical research.
If the show does its job and entertains it will prompt some viewers to begin their own
research, and that's where the education will begin for them
I'm looking forward to the rest of the first season and hope there will be more to come
for The Genealogy Roadshow.
been the use of celebrities. I've often seen comments and posts from people
wishing that WDYTYA would do shows centered around "everyday" people.
Then last Spring PBS announced a new program, The Genealogy Roadshow,
that would do just that. It premiered Monday night.
The format is very much like its sister program The Antiques Roadshow: there
are several longer segments involving interesting stories interspersed with
shorter segments. Those longer segments included a few minutes of background
information on the historical figures to whom people thought they might
be related, such as Davy Crockett and Jesse James. Just as on Antiques Roadshow,
some theories were disproved and some were confirmed. Two experienced
genealogists, Kenyatta Berry and Joshua Taylor, did a great job of presenting
the evidence and conclusions reached by the show's researchers. Overall, I thought
the show was well done and enjoyable.
Not everyone in the online genealogy community agreed. Some complained there
were too many people covered and thought two or three cases for the hour would
be better. Others wanted more emphasis on showing the research process. And
others just plain out didn't like the whole format. I certainly didn't expect everyone
to like the show, so I wasn't surprised at most of the criticism, but there were a very few
whose remarks were over the line into nitpicking territory.
The Genealogy Roadshow is a limited run series with three more episodes yet to air.
Whether it gets renewed or not for a second season depends on the ratings and the
reception by the general public. So while some genealogists want less emphasis on
confirming famous relatives and more on research methods, it's important for us
to remember that the show's future depends on its appeal to that general audience.
They want to be entertained, not educated about every step in genealogical research.
If the show does its job and entertains it will prompt some viewers to begin their own
research, and that's where the education will begin for them
I'm looking forward to the rest of the first season and hope there will be more to come
for The Genealogy Roadshow.
Thursday, September 26, 2013
THE BOOK OF ME, WRITTEN BY YOU 4: SUMMER MEMORIES
I'm taking part in a meme started by Julie Goucher of Anglers Rest. Using
prompts from "The Book of Me, Written By You" I'm leaving my memories
of my life for present and future relatives. This week's prompt is:
Favourite Season (s)
Why?
A Happy Memory.I live in New England. Weather can change in a few minutes, and sometimes we
feel like we are having two or three seasons in one day. As I've grown older I've started
paying more attention to the weather and appreciate the part it plays in my life. But
if I have to pick a favorite season it would have to be Summer and the memories
attached to it.
I don't have many from my early childhood; my Summer memories start about the
time I was 8 years old, after we'd moved from Malden to Dorchester: playing wiffleball
in the alley between two triple decker apartment buildings or "Three Flies Out" bouncing
a pinkie ball off the cement steps of one of those buildings. (Cement gave you a better
bounce than wood steps.) Other times we'd flip baseball cards, or if it was raining I'd
play the "All Star Baseball" box game with Barry Solomon. We'd walk to the store and
buy baseball cards, comic books, and penny candy. Summer evenings we'd wait for
Westy the Ice Cream Man to come around. He'd have the kids guess the "magic number"
and if you were right, you won a free ice cream. I liked the "drumstick" cones.
And when all else failed, there were three branches of the Boston Public Library for me
to visit and take out books, and I used all three. I had a paper route and I used my
newspaper bag when I'd go so I could carry some of the books in it while I started
reading one of the books while I walked. I'd visit the three libraries once a week and
check out thee to six books from each, then have them read and returned in a week so
I could check out more.
Summer also meant visits to our cousin's cottage at Houghs Neck and the occasional
picnic at some state park whose name I can't recall. When the nights were really hot
our parents would take us down to park along the seawall at Wollaston Beach where'd
we sleep in the car until dad drove us home after midnight. And there were the trips
"up home" to Maine and New Hampshire to vist Dad's family.
We left Boston for Abington, a town to the south of the city, before I entered my
sophomore year in high school. Wiffle ball was now played in Paul Conant's backyard
instead of in the street. There was only one small library back then and I spent afternoons
mowing the small front lawn and large backyard. We still didn't have air conditioning but
now the beach we visited at night was in Marshfield or Plymouth.
When I was in college I spent three of my summers as a camp counselor in Brewster down
on Cape Cod. I wasn't a dorm student at school, so Camp Mitton was where I did the things I wouldn't dare do at home: it was where I first drank enough beer to pass out, and where I tried smoking pot. I disappointed my fellow counselors because pot didn't really seem to have much effect on me. I twas the late 1960's-early 1970's and whenever I hear some of the songs from that era I remember those camp days.
As I grew older I did what everyone else does:I got a job and Summers were just like any
other time of the year:I worked and if I was lucky I got a vacation, depending on where I
was working and how long I was working there. Summer as an adult does not hold any
of the sort of memories I have from my younger years.
Now I'm a "senior citizen" and retired, so I'm able to enjoy the warm weather and longer
hours of sunshine again.
Who knows? Maybe now I'll make some more Summer memories,
Monday, September 16, 2013
THE BOOK OF ME, WRITTEN BY YOU 3: THE SKIN I'M IN.
I'm taking part in a meme started by Julie Goucher of Anglers Rest. Using
prompts from "The Book of Me, Written By You" I'm leaving my memories
of my life for present and future relatives. This week's prompt is:
Describe your physical self.
Well, I'm not very artistic, so I'll skip the last two, but as for the rest:
I was a big baby when I was born, but as I grew older I was a tall skinny kid who
bruised easily. My Mom used to give me a tablespoon a day of something that
was supposed to help me gain weight and deal with iron poor blood. She'd had
some condition when she was a child herself that involved an iron deficiency
and part of the treatment was to eat liver several times a week. I think she was
worried I'd develop the same thing she'd had, and I remember we'd have fried
liver at least once a week when I was younger. I'd smother it in ketchup because
I didn't like the taste, and I've never eaten it since I reached adulthood.
I did take after Mom's side of the family physically though. I was tall, skinny,
fair haired and fair skinned. Unlike my dad who always tanned(his left arm
was darker from hanging out the driver's side of the car) I burned. I once had
a sunblister across my back from running around all day with my shirt off. I had
long arms and legs, which made it easy for me to reach under parked cars to
retrieve the rubber balls that had rolled under them when we were playing
"Three Flies Out".
Whatever that concoction was my Mom had given me when I was younger,
it must have been a time release mixture because I reached my teens and
BOOM, I started putting on weight. And I didn't stop. By the time I reached
61 four years ago I was over 300 + pounds. I was wearing 2 and 3XL shirts
and size 54 waist pants.
Of course, that wasn't a very healthy thing to be and it all caught up with me
four years ago and resulted in two stays in the hospital.
Afterwards, I lost weight and actually dropped below 200 pounds for awhile
and was wearing size 38 pants. Since then I've gained back a little of what I lost
So today, I'm a 65 year old, 6 ft tall guy with graying blond hair and blue eyes.
I wear size 42 pants and Xl shirts and I'm hoping to get back down to that size
38 waist again. But I'm definitely never going back to the size 54.
prompts from "The Book of Me, Written By You" I'm leaving my memories
of my life for present and future relatives. This week's prompt is:
Describe your physical self.
Your size – clothes size
Scars
Eye colour
Draw your hands
Finger PrintsWell, I'm not very artistic, so I'll skip the last two, but as for the rest:
I was a big baby when I was born, but as I grew older I was a tall skinny kid who
bruised easily. My Mom used to give me a tablespoon a day of something that
was supposed to help me gain weight and deal with iron poor blood. She'd had
some condition when she was a child herself that involved an iron deficiency
and part of the treatment was to eat liver several times a week. I think she was
worried I'd develop the same thing she'd had, and I remember we'd have fried
liver at least once a week when I was younger. I'd smother it in ketchup because
I didn't like the taste, and I've never eaten it since I reached adulthood.
I did take after Mom's side of the family physically though. I was tall, skinny,
fair haired and fair skinned. Unlike my dad who always tanned(his left arm
was darker from hanging out the driver's side of the car) I burned. I once had
a sunblister across my back from running around all day with my shirt off. I had
long arms and legs, which made it easy for me to reach under parked cars to
retrieve the rubber balls that had rolled under them when we were playing
"Three Flies Out".
Whatever that concoction was my Mom had given me when I was younger,
it must have been a time release mixture because I reached my teens and
BOOM, I started putting on weight. And I didn't stop. By the time I reached
61 four years ago I was over 300 + pounds. I was wearing 2 and 3XL shirts
and size 54 waist pants.
Of course, that wasn't a very healthy thing to be and it all caught up with me
four years ago and resulted in two stays in the hospital.
Afterwards, I lost weight and actually dropped below 200 pounds for awhile
and was wearing size 38 pants. Since then I've gained back a little of what I lost
So today, I'm a 65 year old, 6 ft tall guy with graying blond hair and blue eyes.
I wear size 42 pants and Xl shirts and I'm hoping to get back down to that size
38 waist again. But I'm definitely never going back to the size 54.
Wednesday, September 11, 2013
JONATHAN ABBOT(T) AND THE ACADIANS
((This was first posted back in May of 2007. It's notable because
it helps me remember that is when I first came into contact with
a geneabuddy, Lucie LeBlanc Consentino. It's also given me an idea
for my Poetry Challenge entry. One of these days I will take a ride
up to Andover to see that powder horn!))
I mentioned in a post awhile back that I’d found a website with
an account of Acadian exiles who were sent to Andover, Ma. after
their expulsion from their Canadian homes. Some of them ended
up living for a time in a house owned by Jonathan Abbott, one of
my ancestors.
Twenty-six Acadian men women and children were sent to
Andover in February 1756 and the families of Germaine Landry
and his two sons-in-law Jacques Hebert and Charles Hebert were
placed in a vacant house owned by Jonathan:
“It was, however, a great annoyance to the Puritan farmer to
have these tenants,-- foreigners and Roman Catholics, quartered
near his own residence. But, as his descendants relate, the
Acadians completely conquered the prejudices of this family and
of the community and gained the good-will of all acquaintances.
They were industrious and frugal. The women worked in the
fields pulling flax and harvesting. They practised the rites of their
religion in an inoffensive manner and commended it by their
good conduct.”-HISTORICAL SKETCHES OF ANDOVER. by
Sarah Loring Bailey, 1880
Going by the dates I believe this Jonathan was the one born in
Andover 1Sept 1687 and who was married to Zerviah Holt.
According to Ms. Bailey the Acadians and the Abbotts parted on
friendly terms. The Landry and Hebert families eventually were
able to move to Quebec but apparently still had good feelings for
Jonathan Abbott for they sent him a token of their esteem in 1770:
“Two of them sent a souvenir to Mr. Abbot, which the family still
keep, a beautifully carved and polished powder-horn, made by
their own hands. It is inscribed:
"JONATHAN ABBOT
His horn made in Alenstown
April Ye 5 1770
I powder with my brother ball
Most hero-like doth conquer all."
It is embellished with figures of animals,-- a turtle, a deer, a fox,
dolphins, etc., and also with representations of armies fighting,
soldiers in uniform with muskets, sabre bayonet, (all the soldiers
with hair tied in queues hanging down behind), also artillery
men and field pieces.” (ibid)
There is an ironic twist to the tale of the powder horn. Germaine
Landry passed away two weeks after the date of the inscription on
18 Apr 1770.
In trying to research more for this post I found a website on the
history of Andover which has selections from a historical series
run by the Andover Townsman newspaper. One entry, entitled
“Deserted Farms” notes that:
“(3) Jonathan died just a month before the date on the powder
horn sent by the French Arcadias who had known the old man
and his son (4) Jonathan to be real friends”- Andover Townsman
13 Nov 1896
It’s an interesting tale but I don’t think it was all that warm
and fuzzy as the later accounts would make it. The
people of Andover had lost men in the Canadian
campaign to wounds or illness. The Acadians are
referred to in the records as “Jacky Bear”, “Charles
Bear”, and “Germaine Laundry” which could be
simple ignorance of French pronunciation or nicknames
given the refugees and since there were probably no
priests available nearby to perform Roman Catholic
Mass there were ceremonies to arouse the old anger at
Papists among the townsfolk.
Still, it’s nice to know that those distant Abbott relatives
were able to see past their differences and deal humanely
with the Acadians.
I had never heard that there had been French Canadian
prisoners in Massachusetts, let alone that one of my
distant ancestors had a more than casual acquaintance
with some. Lucie LeBlanc Consentino whose website
is where I first read about Jonathan Abbott and the
Acadians tells me that there were 2,000 deportees to
Massachusetts and others were sent to other of the
English colonies along the Atlantic coastline. Outside of
the poem “Evangeline” by Longfellow, I was taught
nothing about this episode in American history and I’m
not certain that the poem is even read by today’s kids.
My thanks to Lucie LeBlanc Consentino for letting me
make use of her research from her website and my
apologies for the delay in getting this done. By the
way, she is a distant relative of Germaine Landry and
his wife Cecile Forest as well as of Charles Hebert.
If you haven’t visited her website Acadian & French-Canadian
Ancestral Home I highly recommend that you do so.
I’m a bit rusty on writing long pieces and I hope I’ve
cited everything correctly. It’s taken me longer than
I wanted to finally write this, actually.
it helps me remember that is when I first came into contact with
a geneabuddy, Lucie LeBlanc Consentino. It's also given me an idea
for my Poetry Challenge entry. One of these days I will take a ride
up to Andover to see that powder horn!))
I mentioned in a post awhile back that I’d found a website with
an account of Acadian exiles who were sent to Andover, Ma. after
their expulsion from their Canadian homes. Some of them ended
up living for a time in a house owned by Jonathan Abbott, one of
my ancestors.
Twenty-six Acadian men women and children were sent to
Andover in February 1756 and the families of Germaine Landry
and his two sons-in-law Jacques Hebert and Charles Hebert were
placed in a vacant house owned by Jonathan:
“It was, however, a great annoyance to the Puritan farmer to
have these tenants,-- foreigners and Roman Catholics, quartered
near his own residence. But, as his descendants relate, the
Acadians completely conquered the prejudices of this family and
of the community and gained the good-will of all acquaintances.
They were industrious and frugal. The women worked in the
fields pulling flax and harvesting. They practised the rites of their
religion in an inoffensive manner and commended it by their
good conduct.”-HISTORICAL SKETCHES OF ANDOVER. by
Sarah Loring Bailey, 1880
Going by the dates I believe this Jonathan was the one born in
Andover 1Sept 1687 and who was married to Zerviah Holt.
According to Ms. Bailey the Acadians and the Abbotts parted on
friendly terms. The Landry and Hebert families eventually were
able to move to Quebec but apparently still had good feelings for
Jonathan Abbott for they sent him a token of their esteem in 1770:
“Two of them sent a souvenir to Mr. Abbot, which the family still
keep, a beautifully carved and polished powder-horn, made by
their own hands. It is inscribed:
"JONATHAN ABBOT
His horn made in Alenstown
April Ye 5 1770
I powder with my brother ball
Most hero-like doth conquer all."
It is embellished with figures of animals,-- a turtle, a deer, a fox,
dolphins, etc., and also with representations of armies fighting,
soldiers in uniform with muskets, sabre bayonet, (all the soldiers
with hair tied in queues hanging down behind), also artillery
men and field pieces.” (ibid)
There is an ironic twist to the tale of the powder horn. Germaine
Landry passed away two weeks after the date of the inscription on
18 Apr 1770.
In trying to research more for this post I found a website on the
history of Andover which has selections from a historical series
run by the Andover Townsman newspaper. One entry, entitled
“Deserted Farms” notes that:
“(3) Jonathan died just a month before the date on the powder
horn sent by the French Arcadias who had known the old man
and his son (4) Jonathan to be real friends”- Andover Townsman
13 Nov 1896
It’s an interesting tale but I don’t think it was all that warm
and fuzzy as the later accounts would make it. The
people of Andover had lost men in the Canadian
campaign to wounds or illness. The Acadians are
referred to in the records as “Jacky Bear”, “Charles
Bear”, and “Germaine Laundry” which could be
simple ignorance of French pronunciation or nicknames
given the refugees and since there were probably no
priests available nearby to perform Roman Catholic
Mass there were ceremonies to arouse the old anger at
Papists among the townsfolk.
Still, it’s nice to know that those distant Abbott relatives
were able to see past their differences and deal humanely
with the Acadians.
I had never heard that there had been French Canadian
prisoners in Massachusetts, let alone that one of my
distant ancestors had a more than casual acquaintance
with some. Lucie LeBlanc Consentino whose website
is where I first read about Jonathan Abbott and the
Acadians tells me that there were 2,000 deportees to
Massachusetts and others were sent to other of the
English colonies along the Atlantic coastline. Outside of
the poem “Evangeline” by Longfellow, I was taught
nothing about this episode in American history and I’m
not certain that the poem is even read by today’s kids.
My thanks to Lucie LeBlanc Consentino for letting me
make use of her research from her website and my
apologies for the delay in getting this done. By the
way, she is a distant relative of Germaine Landry and
his wife Cecile Forest as well as of Charles Hebert.
If you haven’t visited her website Acadian & French-Canadian
Ancestral Home I highly recommend that you do so.
I’m a bit rusty on writing long pieces and I hope I’ve
cited everything correctly. It’s taken me longer than
I wanted to finally write this, actually.
Tuesday, September 10, 2013
ANCESTRY.COM'S NEW MASS. VITAL RECORDS INDEXES: FINDING THE DEATH DATE OF MY GREAT GRANDMOTHER
Earlier today Randy Seaver posted "20th Century Massachusetts Vital Record Indexes New on Ancestry.com" on his Genea-Musings blog. After reading it, I went over to Ancestry to give them a try. I had never found a record of the death my maternal great grandmother Pauline (Offlinger)White, so decided to try a search for that.
I went to the search box for "Massachusetts, Death Index, 1901-1980" and entered
Pauline White's name. I know she'd been alive in the 1950's so for a year I entered
1960 and set a search parameter of + or - 20 years. I wasn't sure what town she had
died in, so I left it blank. I entered her maiden name, Offinger, as a keyword. This
is what the screen looked like before I hit the "Search" button:
What came up were these search results:
Only the first five were women named Pauline White.I started with the first name,
with a death date of 1957 in the city of Brockton. I clicked "View Record" and this was
what I saw:
So, this told me that this Pauline White's death record was on page 473 in volume 34
in the Mass.Vital Records Books. But, was it MY Pauline White?. I clicked on the image
of the record in the upper right hand corner and saw this:
And there it was! Pauline White, with (Offinger) beside her name! It wasn't the first
name on the search results, but the second, who'd died in Boston in 1959. Her death
record can be found in volume 30, page 130. My great grandmother had survived my
great grandfather for twenty years after his death in 1939.
This will be a great help in filling in some blanks on that side of my family!
I went to the search box for "Massachusetts, Death Index, 1901-1980" and entered
Pauline White's name. I know she'd been alive in the 1950's so for a year I entered
1960 and set a search parameter of + or - 20 years. I wasn't sure what town she had
died in, so I left it blank. I entered her maiden name, Offinger, as a keyword. This
is what the screen looked like before I hit the "Search" button:
What came up were these search results:
Only the first five were women named Pauline White.I started with the first name,
with a death date of 1957 in the city of Brockton. I clicked "View Record" and this was
what I saw:
So, this told me that this Pauline White's death record was on page 473 in volume 34
in the Mass.Vital Records Books. But, was it MY Pauline White?. I clicked on the image
of the record in the upper right hand corner and saw this:
And there it was! Pauline White, with (Offinger) beside her name! It wasn't the first
name on the search results, but the second, who'd died in Boston in 1959. Her death
record can be found in volume 30, page 130. My great grandmother had survived my
great grandfather for twenty years after his death in 1939.
This will be a great help in filling in some blanks on that side of my family!
SATURDAY NIGHT GENEALOGY FUN: WHERE WERE THEY 150 YEARS AGO?
I'm late(yet again) on last Saturday's "Saturday Night Genealogy Fun" prompt
from Randy Seaver over at Genea-Musings. I'll explain why below. But first,
here's this week's prompt:
"Your mission, should you decide to accept it (cue the Mission Impossible! music) is to:
1) Determine where your ancestral families were on 1 September 1863 - 150 years ago.
2) List your ancestors, their family members, their birth and death years, and their residence location (as close as possible). Do you have a photograph of their residence from about that time, and does the residence still exist?
3) Tell us all about it in your own blog post, in a comment to this post, or in a Facebook Status or Google+ Stream post."
Now for that explanation on why I'm late(again).The thing is that I have some
information gaps for the generations living in September 1863.
On my Mom's side of the family, most of my ancestors were still living in Ireland,
Scotland, or Germany, and I have no record of where they were or might have been
in 1863. I haven't found much yet on my 2x great grandparents who were in this country, Patrick J White (1848- 1902) & Mary (Powers) White (1848-?) and their parents.
Part of the problem is the commonality of the Irish family names in a period
when Massachusetts was seeing a great influx of Irish immigrants.
Even on my Dad's side with all his family living in Maine and New Hampshire
there are a few missing a date of death, so I don't know if they were even alive
in 1863. In those cases I've left their names off this post. On the other hand, I
may have found evidence on the 1860 Census that my 2x great grandmother
Louisa A Richardson was working in a textile mill in Massachusetts in the years
before she married the widowed Jonathan Phelps West in 1865.
Anyway, here's what information I was able to find on the paternal side of my
family:
My 3x great grandmother Arvilla (Ames)West (1810-1907) was a widow of one year,
her husband John Cutter West having died in 1862. She was living on the farm in
Upton, Maine with her son, my 2x great grandfather Jonathan Phelps West (1834-1917) who was also mourning the death of a spouse, his first wife Orpha (Reynolds)West, who'd died in the diphtheria epidemic of 1862 after only a few months of marriage.
My 2x great grandmother Louisa A Richardson(1837-1925) may have been working
in a mill in Lowell, Ma.
My 2x great grandparents Asa F Ellingwood (1828-1921) and Florilla (Dunham) Ellingwood (1832-1917)were living on a farm in Dummer, Coos, NH.
My 3x great grandparents Nathaniel Barker(1794-1884) & Huldah (Hastings) Barker (1798-1884) were living on a farm in Albany, Oxford, Me. My 2x great grandparents Nathaniel S. Barker(1830-1884) & Lucy (Coburn)Barker(1842-1904) were living with them. My 3x great grandparents Amos Hastings Barker (1828-1907) & Betsy J(Moore)Barker (1842-1924) were also living in Albany, Oxford, Me on another farm.
3x great grandmother Hannah (Upton)Moore Emery (1814-1896) was also living on a farm in Albany, Upton, Me with her second husband, Peter Emery.
from Randy Seaver over at Genea-Musings. I'll explain why below. But first,
here's this week's prompt:
"Your mission, should you decide to accept it (cue the Mission Impossible! music) is to:
1) Determine where your ancestral families were on 1 September 1863 - 150 years ago.
2) List your ancestors, their family members, their birth and death years, and their residence location (as close as possible). Do you have a photograph of their residence from about that time, and does the residence still exist?
3) Tell us all about it in your own blog post, in a comment to this post, or in a Facebook Status or Google+ Stream post."
Now for that explanation on why I'm late(again).The thing is that I have some
information gaps for the generations living in September 1863.
On my Mom's side of the family, most of my ancestors were still living in Ireland,
Scotland, or Germany, and I have no record of where they were or might have been
in 1863. I haven't found much yet on my 2x great grandparents who were in this country, Patrick J White (1848- 1902) & Mary (Powers) White (1848-?) and their parents.
Part of the problem is the commonality of the Irish family names in a period
when Massachusetts was seeing a great influx of Irish immigrants.
Even on my Dad's side with all his family living in Maine and New Hampshire
there are a few missing a date of death, so I don't know if they were even alive
in 1863. In those cases I've left their names off this post. On the other hand, I
may have found evidence on the 1860 Census that my 2x great grandmother
Louisa A Richardson was working in a textile mill in Massachusetts in the years
before she married the widowed Jonathan Phelps West in 1865.
Anyway, here's what information I was able to find on the paternal side of my
family:
My 3x great grandmother Arvilla (Ames)West (1810-1907) was a widow of one year,
her husband John Cutter West having died in 1862. She was living on the farm in
Upton, Maine with her son, my 2x great grandfather Jonathan Phelps West (1834-1917) who was also mourning the death of a spouse, his first wife Orpha (Reynolds)West, who'd died in the diphtheria epidemic of 1862 after only a few months of marriage.
My 2x great grandmother Louisa A Richardson(1837-1925) may have been working
in a mill in Lowell, Ma.
My 2x great grandparents Asa F Ellingwood (1828-1921) and Florilla (Dunham) Ellingwood (1832-1917)were living on a farm in Dummer, Coos, NH.
My 3x great grandparents Nathaniel Barker(1794-1884) & Huldah (Hastings) Barker (1798-1884) were living on a farm in Albany, Oxford, Me. My 2x great grandparents Nathaniel S. Barker(1830-1884) & Lucy (Coburn)Barker(1842-1904) were living with them. My 3x great grandparents Amos Hastings Barker (1828-1907) & Betsy J(Moore)Barker (1842-1924) were also living in Albany, Oxford, Me on another farm.
3x great grandmother Hannah (Upton)Moore Emery (1814-1896) was also living on a farm in Albany, Upton, Me with her second husband, Peter Emery.
Sunday, September 08, 2013
THE BOOK OF ME WRITTEN BY YOU 2: MY BIRTH
Using prompts from "The Book of Me, Written By You" I'm leaving my memories of my
life for present and future relatives.
This week's prompt (which are answered in a different order).:
Prompt 2: Your Birth
Do you have any baby photos?
Where were you born?
Who was present at your birth?
Dimensions?
What day was it? Time?
Did you have hair? Eye colours
I was born in Boston at the Massachussets Osteopath Hospital on 20Aug 1948. It was a Friday night, and I believe my mother told me it was nearly midnight when I was born. I don't know the exact measurements except that I was over 8 pounds at birth, and that I had blond hair and blue eyes. My Dad was at the hospital in the waiting room. One of the things my Mom saved were the telegrams that accompanied the flowers that were sent to her by my Dad and by her mother and brother:
I have a baby picture around here somewhere that I haven't scanned yet. But here's one
of me at about a year old, taken at Hough's Neck in Quincy, Ma. One the left is our cousin
Margy(McCue)Boyd, on the right is my Mom(whose hair was red), and the chubby guy in the middle was me.
Friday, September 06, 2013
NAMING PATTERNS:THE J.P.'S & THE P.J.'S
Today is the 206th wedding anniversary of my 4x greart grandparents Jonathan Phelps
Ames and Polly Griffith. Besides the personal significance of that happy event(I would
not be here if they hadn't married), it's also significant for setting up a naming pattern
in my family.
Jonathan was the son of John Ames and Lydia Phelps.
Jonathan and Polly's daughter Arvilla Ames married my 3x great grandfather John
Cutter West.
They named their fourth child Jonathan Phelps West(my 2x great grandfather).
Jonathan Phelps West married Lousia Amata Richardson, daughter of Philip Richardson
and Esther Laughton. They named their second child Philip Jonathan West in honor of both their fathers. He was my great grandfather.
The name then skips two generations until my younger brother was born. He's named
Philip John West after our great grandfather.
And his oldest son is Philip J West, Jr!
Do you have a story about how names have been passed down in your family?
Ames and Polly Griffith. Besides the personal significance of that happy event(I would
not be here if they hadn't married), it's also significant for setting up a naming pattern
in my family.
Jonathan was the son of John Ames and Lydia Phelps.
Jonathan and Polly's daughter Arvilla Ames married my 3x great grandfather John
Cutter West.
They named their fourth child Jonathan Phelps West(my 2x great grandfather).
Jonathan Phelps West married Lousia Amata Richardson, daughter of Philip Richardson
and Esther Laughton. They named their second child Philip Jonathan West in honor of both their fathers. He was my great grandfather.
The name then skips two generations until my younger brother was born. He's named
Philip John West after our great grandfather.
And his oldest son is Philip J West, Jr!
Do you have a story about how names have been passed down in your family?
Tuesday, September 03, 2013
THE WEST BROTHERS
After that long series on the Newbury, Ma. church dispute I want to do some
writing on topics that might not demand so many posts. Luckily I have some
ideas. For one thing, I've had the probate files for my 2x great granduncles
Asa Atwood and Hiram Ferdinand West to transcribe. I was thinking about
when I realized I could also post a few pictures here of the West brothers.
My 2x great grandfather Jonathan Phelps West was the fourth of eleven
children born to John Cutter West and Arvilla (Ames) West. He was also
the third out of six sons. Unfortunately, I have no photos of three of them:
Oldest son Asa Atwood West, about whom I have some information;
Third child John C.West. The middle name might have been Cutter, in
which case he would have been John C West, Jr. He died young, at age
eighteen. The only record I've been able to find of him online is his listing
with the rest of the family on the 1850 Census.
Sixth son and youngest of the eleven children David Pingree West. He and
his sisters Arvilla and Ruth died during a diphtheria outbreak in 1862.
The other three brothers that I have photos of:
My 2x great grandfather Jonathan Phelps West:
Fourth brother Hiram Ferdinand West:
Fifth son and ninth child Leonidas West, shown here with his wife Valora Abbott.
He is the only West in our family to have taken his name seriously and move West,
first to Minnesota and then Washington state:
I think Hiram and Leonidas look quite dashing. I'd like to think that
underneath all those whiskers, 2x great grandfather Jonathan was equally
as dashing!
I'll be posting Hiram and Asa's probate files soon.
writing on topics that might not demand so many posts. Luckily I have some
ideas. For one thing, I've had the probate files for my 2x great granduncles
Asa Atwood and Hiram Ferdinand West to transcribe. I was thinking about
when I realized I could also post a few pictures here of the West brothers.
My 2x great grandfather Jonathan Phelps West was the fourth of eleven
children born to John Cutter West and Arvilla (Ames) West. He was also
the third out of six sons. Unfortunately, I have no photos of three of them:
Oldest son Asa Atwood West, about whom I have some information;
Third child John C.West. The middle name might have been Cutter, in
which case he would have been John C West, Jr. He died young, at age
eighteen. The only record I've been able to find of him online is his listing
with the rest of the family on the 1850 Census.
Sixth son and youngest of the eleven children David Pingree West. He and
his sisters Arvilla and Ruth died during a diphtheria outbreak in 1862.
The other three brothers that I have photos of:
My 2x great grandfather Jonathan Phelps West:
Fourth brother Hiram Ferdinand West:
Fifth son and ninth child Leonidas West, shown here with his wife Valora Abbott.
He is the only West in our family to have taken his name seriously and move West,
first to Minnesota and then Washington state:
I think Hiram and Leonidas look quite dashing. I'd like to think that
underneath all those whiskers, 2x great grandfather Jonathan was equally
as dashing!
I'll be posting Hiram and Asa's probate files soon.
Monday, September 02, 2013
SATURDAY NIGHT GENEALOGY FUN: THE BLOGGERS GENEAMEME
I'm a day late for this week's Saturday Night Genealogy Fun from
Randy Seaver over at Genea-Musings but I'm taking a shot at it
anyway.
Here's this week's Challenge:
1) Read Jill Ball's post The Bloggers GeneaMeme on her Geniaus blog.
2) Copy the questions into your own blog post, or into a word processing document, and answer the questions.
3) Write your own blog post with the questions and answers. Be sure to share a link to your blog post with Jill and as a comment on this post
1.What are the titles and URLs of your genealogy blog/s?
West in New England
The Old Colony Graveyard Rabbit
2. Do you have a wonderful "Cousin Bait" blog story? A link to a previous blog post might answer this question.
Probably how my blog put me in touch with cousins from my maternal grandfather's
side of my family. After my grandparents' divorce there had been no contact with them.
I wrote about it in MEETING MY WHITE FAMILY COUSINS
3. Why did you start blogging? Is there someone who inspired you to start blogging?
I started blogging after I'd discovered blogs by Christopher Dunham and Timothy
Abbott, who it turned out are my cousins. It dawned on me this might be a good way to find more relatives and at the same time share the history of my family.
4. How did you decide on your blog/s title/s?
Well, I had a last name that's a compass direction. West of New England was a
no-brainer. For the second blog, the area of Massachusetts is known as the Old Colony
so again, a no-brainer.
5. Do you ever blog from mobile devices? What are they?
No.
6. How do you let others know when you have published a new post?
I post links on G+, Facebook, and Twitter.
7. How long have you been blogging?
Since January of 2007.
8. What widgets or elements do you consider essential on a genealogy blog?
Email moderation to cut down on spamming.
9. What is the purpose of your blog/s? Who is your intended audience?
My purpose of West in New England is to tell the story of my ancestors
and hopefully make contact with relatives.
The Old colony Graveyard Rabbit blog's purpose is to showcase the cemeteries
of Southeastern Massachusetts.
10. Which of your posts are you particularly proud of?
Two from the first year. AGGIE, about my maternal grandmother and ORPHA,
about my 2x great grandfather's first wife.
11. How do you keep up with your blog reading?
The Old Reader
12. What platform do you use for publishing your blog/s?
Blogger, with a mirror site at Wordpress.
13.What new features would you like to see in your blogging software?
Can't think of any, but I'm not a techie.
14. Which of your posts has been the most popular with readers?
A blogpost last year on the cancellation of "Who Do You Think You Are?"
15. Are you a sole blogger or do you contribute to a shared blog?
I am The Lone Blogger.
16. How do you compose your blog posts?
Verrrry slowly. Seriously, I write them first in Wordpad and then cut & paste
them into Blogger.
17. Do you have any blogs that are not genealogy related? If you wish please share their titles and URLs.
Yes, a blog about books, West of the Moon, but I haven't posted there much.
18. Have you listed your blog/s at Geneabloggers?
Yes.
19. Which resources have helped you with your blogging?
GoogleBooks
20. What advice would you give to a new Geneablogger?
Have fun with it, and keep at it. It's like riding a bike. The more you write,
the easier it becomes to write.
Sunday, September 01, 2013
THE BOOK OF ME 1: WHO AM I?
Julie Goucher of the Anglers Rest blog has started a weekly series of
writing prompts called The Book of Me, Written By You. Basically it's
a way for those of us who write about our ancestors to write about ourselves
and our memories.
Week 1 is Who Am I? I have to ask that question 20 times and come up
with at least 20 different answers. It's an exercise in how I see my self.
I came up with 22.
So......
Who am I?
I am...
A rock & roll dinosaur.
A bird watcher
A photographer
A reader
A book lover
A science fiction & fantasy fan (in all formats)
A New Englander
A lifelong resident of Massachusetts.
A medieval & ancient history geek.
A fan of Celtic, folk, and medieval music.
A white-knuckled driver on highways.
A night owl.
A liberal Kennedy Democrat.
A bachelor
A former bookseller
A former garment worker
An oldest child
A historian
A genealogist
A writer
Still learning.
Retired
writing prompts called The Book of Me, Written By You. Basically it's
a way for those of us who write about our ancestors to write about ourselves
and our memories.
Week 1 is Who Am I? I have to ask that question 20 times and come up
with at least 20 different answers. It's an exercise in how I see my self.
I came up with 22.
So......
Who am I?
I am...
A rock & roll dinosaur.
A bird watcher
A photographer
A reader
A book lover
A science fiction & fantasy fan (in all formats)
A New Englander
A lifelong resident of Massachusetts.
A medieval & ancient history geek.
A fan of Celtic, folk, and medieval music.
A white-knuckled driver on highways.
A night owl.
A liberal Kennedy Democrat.
A bachelor
A former bookseller
A former garment worker
An oldest child
A historian
A genealogist
A writer
Still learning.
Retired
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