Week #8 of 52 Ancestors: Vernetta Gertrude (Jones) Barnes

Vernetta Gertrude (Jones) Barnes
13 June 1892 to 1 August 1962
(Not sure when this was taken, perhaps 1946?)

I'm so far behind that I must whip out three of these blog posts asap! So forgive me if I merely skim over what I know about my mother's mother, Vernetta Gertrude (Jones) Barnes. I've written about her before, especially in "Growing Up in a Massachusetts Mill Town." I was very fond of her, but only ever knew her from a child's viewpoint, and sometimes wonder what she was really like.

Vernie, as she was called, was an avid reader, loved history, but best of all, was a genealogist! She infected my mother and two aunts with the same passion, and thus it passed to me. She always said she was born 13 June 1892 in Lawrence, Essex County, Massachusetts, but the funny thing is, she couldn't prove her own birth. It wasn't her fault. The Lawrence City Clerk has messed up her name, sex and date of birth, and with a surname like Jones it was too hard to find. The exciting story of how I found it will have to wait for another time.

I'm not 100% sure but I assume, given the times she lived in, that Grandma Barnes was hot to find a "notable" ancestor or one with some blue blood. Her own parents were descended from New Brunswick Loyalists, so the DAR was out. Research progressed at a much slower rate in those days, so she never knew it but she had Mayflower ancestry. I'm sure she would have loved that! She spent a lot of her time researching her husband's family since they were right there in Scituate and it was all so neatly done in the published vital records and town histories. Of course we delve deeper now, but she was pretty stringent about her proofs and paid attention to conflicting information. I've found very few errors in her work.

Considering she died when I was so young, I remember quite a bit about her. Grandma Barnes [pronounced Gramma Bahnes in local accent!] was always good to me. Every Sunday we'd go pick her up and bring her back to our house for Sunday mid-day dinner. She would play card games like Go Fish and talk to me about whatever little girls want to be talked about. And she was funny. Once I excused myself to use the bathroom and she said, "Go for me too, would ya?" I just thought that was the funniest thing ever. I slept over at her house a few times and was enthralled with her because she cut the crusts off my peanut butter sandwich and my mother never would! Funny the things that win a child over.

Every Memorial Day my mother would pick her up and we'd go to the cemetery where our ancestors are buried and decorate the graves with geraniums and great big white wicker baskets full of gladiolas. I loved that cemetery (Mt. Hope, in Scituate, Massachusetts) because there was a spigot with running water, seemingly in the middle of nowhere. How convenient! And there were little wild flowers I could pick--violets, and one we called "Pussy Foots" which I've just Googled and discovered are actually called Pussy Toes! They are very soft and resemble kittens' paws.

They'll always be Pussy Foots to me!

My grandmother lost her husband when she was only 48. Her youngest children, twins, had just graduated from high school and World War II was in full swing. Her two eldest daughters were married, and her only son was in the Navy. I'm sure she was lonely and overwhelmed with the big house to take care of, but she was very civic minded and involved in the League of Women Voters, her work at the library and for SS Peirce, and with her garden. And she was pretty sociable, hosting card games and dinners for friends as well.

Vernetta and family, circa 1951, Scituate, Massachusetts
Back Row: James E. FitzGerald, Priscilla (Barnes) FitzGerald, Vernetta,
Louise B. (Barnes) Sullivan, Georgianne (Barnes) Page holding Gregory B. Page, Edwin A. Sullivan
Front Row: Ann V. FitzGerald holding Linda L. Page, Esther E. Page,
Timothy FitzGerald, Olive M. Page and Jared E. FitzGerald.
I wasn't born yet.

Vernetta died of an embolism in August of 1962, when I was still six. Against their better judgment my parents let me attend her funeral and I cried lustily, much to the annoyance of all in attendance. I couldn't figure out why they didn't seem sad, but she had had a stroke and was in rough shape before she went. I remember my brother whacking me on the arm and saying, "Junior, shut up!" But I just couldn't stop bawling. We had lived with her for the first two years of my life and I'm sure I was very attached.

I sometimes wonder if I would love her as much today, I mean if I knew her as an adult. I'm pretty confident I would. It would blow her mind to see how much information is at our fingertips for genealogical research via the web. I know we'd have plenty to talk about, starting with genealogy, but hopefully on other subjects.

Me with my Grandmother at her house in Scituate, 1961.
Those dead animals forming her coat collar always freaked me out! Somebody
(probably my brother) told me they were alive and sleeping...

Diary of a Medium, Georgianne (Hagerman) Jones, 1928

Georgianna Hagerman, 1888,  Fredericton, New Brunswick.
My mother's mother's mother, before life got to her, but already looking a bit glum.
She was variously called Georgia, Georgia Ann, Georgie, Georgianne, Georgie Ann, and Georgianna 

My first genealogical education was the National Genealogical Society’s Basic American Genealogy home study course. An early assignment was to interview a relative we had never met in order to practice interviewing and learn more about that branch. So my sister Ann and I went to visit my mother’s maternal first cousin, Jackie (Jones) Towler in July of 1998. My mother had passed away two years earlier, and since Jackie was in the older generation and from a side of the family I knew little about she fit nicely. Though there was a 17 year age gap between Jackie and my mother, they had always been very fond of each other.

Jackie had genealogical experience and understood my interest in family history. She had successfully researched my great-uncles’ births in Lawrence for my mother, but the birth of my grandmother, Vernetta Gertrude Jones was nowhere to be found––by Jackie, my mother, my Aunt Abbie, or even Vernetta herself, who was an ardent genealogist! 

Ann and I went to the home of Jackie and her husband, Herbert ("Red") in Lawrence armed with a video camera. Jackie had also invited her sister, Barbara, and they had gathered some old photos and assorted memorabilia. One item in particular just blew me away –– a typescript of the diary of Vernetta's mother, Georgianna (Hagerman) Jones. (See the variety of ways her name appears in records in the caption under her photo, above.) Jackie had given the original diary to her son Jared, and he transcribed and typed it. It looks like he transcribed it verbatim, but sometimes I can’t tell if he has made typos or if Georgianna did! So in my transcription of the transcription, I fixed the obvious ones (i.e. uncerstand, mornign, etc.). I surely would love to see the original, though! Apart from the obvious need to get down to the original for accuracy purposes, the diary is in Georgie's handwriting, which add would add so much depth to something as poignant as this.

Georgianna was a Spiritualist, and communicated regularly with the Great Beyond. She held dinner séances where guests paid a fee to dine and then chat with their dearly departed over coffee. My mother Priscilla (Barnes) FitzGerald was her granddaughter, and I can still see the childlike excitement on her face as she recounted visiting her grandmother and being allowed to collect money at these dinners, starting at the impressionable age of six.

Georgianna’s son, Frank Dewey Jones, died at the age of 29 on 4 December 1927. [1] His death certificate gives lobar pneumonia as the cause of death, but Jackie thought it might have been from tainted alcohol he obtained (Prohibition). The diary mentions his legs giving him trouble, but I do not know what that refers to. Georgie was obviously heartbroken, and used her diary as a way to comfort herself and make sense out of her painful world by channelling her son and documenting her own feelings. 

Jones/Barnes Gathering circa 1925, location unknown,
perhaps the Barnes summer cottage at Rivermoor, Scituate, Mass.
Back Row, L-R: Cecil Jones, Bill Barnes, Ernest Jones, Georgianne (Hagerman) Jones, Priscilla Barnes
Front Row: Louise Barnes, Frank Jones holding twin Anne Barnes,
Billy Barnes turned away, Jared Smith Jones holding twin Abbie Barnes.
Missing is Vernetta (Jones) Barnes, probably the one taking the photo, which has her parents, siblings, husband and children.

Georgianne's diary mentions other family members:

• Her husband, Jared Smith Jones, “Pa”;

• Sons Ernest Jared, born 1895; Clowes Warren, born 1900; and Cecil Roy born 1907. Cecil was Jackie and Barbara’s father.

• Daughter Vernetta Gertrude (Jones) Barnes, “Vernie”, and her husband “Bill” or William Otis Barnes (my grandparents);

• Bill's mother, “Mrs. Barnes”, Bethia Augusta (Clapp) Barnes, who had died on 6 February 1928--only five days before Georgianne started the diary;

• Vernie and Bill’s children, Priscilla (my mother), Louise, Billy, and twins Abbie and Anne, whose ages ranged from three to thirteen;

So far I have not been able to ascertain the identity of “Nolan.”

Jones family photos are rare. I have one that could be of Frank, but all it says, in my grandmother's handwriting, is "Uncle Frank 1920". He looks older than 22 to me, and is dressed in a fine suit, which seems exaggerated given his occupation as clerk. She usually labelled people by how they related to her, so it's odd that she'd call him "Uncle Frank." As far as I know she didn't have an Uncle Frank, though, so perhaps it is, indeed, him.

The diary is almost a stream of consciousness, which is why I love it. I’m including a few of her entries below to give you a feel for it. It is too long to include in its entirety, but when I get my act together, I will upload it to my website.

Detail of above, Georgianne (Hagerman) Jones
Born 3 Feb 1868, Queensbury, York, New Brunswick
Died 3 June 1932, Lawrence, Essex, Massachusetts

-------

Saturday 

Feb. 11th 1928 

Mrs. Barnes [speaking to her daughter's mother-in-law]

you have gone to your beautiful home over there. I have been thinking of you ever since you passed on

First you was always good, sweet and good to everybody. Always wore a smile and dear Frank liked you and you was good to him and all the boys and to all of us.

I know you are happy
Just gone on before
Through the open door
Where all the love ones met
you and I hear the soft
Murmur. Ah so happy so happy 

-------

Feb. 11th 1928

Ah spirit of light that has
guided you right
be though of good cheer
knowing we are here
sending rays of light
Around you day and night
ah though spirits we arte
to be attuned with the great divine
spirit until we shall rise above

all the trying and grey condirations. Each day may we ask guidance for that day. When the day is done give thanks for something good that has been done.

Knowing that God is lone power and strength sufficient for all needs. For all times and places. giving thanks at the end of the day

call all the wise spirits that you can each day at your command. Then soar in heights unknown until you are healed in mind soul and spirit heading back to earth that you have received in the silence when you ask and then receive, give thanks. Ah, though great divine spirit and loved ones that come close to me I give thank for the prayer that you answered when I said save my boy, the loved one of earth now in spirit. Who am I, so small, that

you heard the call and answered. Again I bow my head in thanks trying and believing that I will see that. I remain good and true always guided by truth love and have faith in thee.

Georgie

-------

march 12th 1928 

a letter from Frank was shown to me this morning. This is what it appeared to me. 

Dear Ma

I am alright and happy. Think of me just away doing well and that you will hear from time to time from me. Always thinking of home and love for all, hoping you will be as happy as you can be feeling in the space and time on rejoicing that I have gained a new place; not a stranger in a strange land but many faces. I see that seem to know me. And they lead me and guide me, with the thought always before me that I will be able to come into the home and you will know. And then I can help you. So don’t think it was a great sorrow that you have to dwell in but a great gain for you and me. Listen, Ma Dear the best place yep. Keep on thinking that yes, I see you. I went with you to see his mother. Keep on. Don’t turn to the right or left. Keep straight ahead. They would harm shall stand just where they are. Yes, poor Pa, I see him. I know when he thinks about me. I will (----) again like Clousy [Clowes] from Florida. Cecil heard me. Ernest thinks about me. I with he was happy now. He will soon be working. Better days are showing ahead

love oh love love

Frank

P.S. Bill, Vernie and all of them, I think of them and all the old times. Tell Vernie don’t cry, Vernie everything is all right. Good night.

Frank

-------

March 13th 1928

Dear Ma

No time, no place, just a great big place, always on the move. Always something new. I was glad everyone received my message. All but Clousy. It seems like collecting all your thought on one big whole. I am beginning to know and understand. I am not sorry it all happened as it did. It seemed like floating. Now I know. Don’t be sorry for anything. Just listen and I will be around. I wouldn’t want to be back in the old way. But glad I know that I can come into the home. The circle will never be broken. I am and will be one of you. That will be seen later. Of all the wonders that I passed through sometimes it seemed like being on a great wave that was always on the move. There came times when I could see through. Sometimes I would see you all--Sad- And I wished you could see it as it was, not with doubts and downcast. You heared me saying, Of course not. I could vibrate that and thought if I could of that I would be able to get something more through. I have heard ringing. something like this: The winds and waves, they shall all obey thy will. Peace. Be still. It sounded great. Something like the radio. There is a great wave that will wash over you. Then all old things will be washed away. Everything will be new. Remember I am alright. Just keep on to the end of the way. I will come nearly every day. Will go with you someday. I have no fear. Good ahead.

Love, Ah love

Frank

From out of the Silent throng 

-------

March 14th 1928 

Dear Mother

I come on the wave of the morning. You know I am not so far away. We don’t stand still. I haven’t got so very far but what I have learned is very clear and I am happy expecting something to be shown to me. I sense that I will see clearer and be able to get just a little farther. I was weary and my feet and legs bothered me so much that sometimes I go through again, but have been placed in the healing power class. I wonder sometimes how you learned it of knowing those things. There was no beginning you just tuned in. And I am going to find out a lot and tell you. Sometimes it’s light and sometimes clouded and shaky, but no grief. Know I think of you all, then I look and wonder, but will soon be so I will get it clear; the soldiers on the fields and the great white Pope that walked beside. You will get well and stand before the people as you have been told you would. I have a lot to work out yet but am happy you know. Yes love oh love

Frank

from a land that knows no sorrow

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I can feel her pain right in the pit of my stomach. The poor woman managed to calm herself this way, and at the same time, gives us an extremely personal peek into her heart. It's so touching. 

1. Massachusetts, Department of Public Health, Deaths, 1927, Lawrence, reg. no. 1056, Franklin D. Jones, 4 December 1927; certified copy issued by the Bureau of Vital Records and Statistics, Columbia Point, Boston, Mass.

Growing Up in a Massachusetts Mill Town

My grandmother Vernetta "Vernie" Gertrude (Jones) Barnes was born in Lawrence, Essex County, Massachusetts in 1892. Her parents were newly-arrived immigrants, having come down from New Brunswick, like countless other immigrants, in search of jobs, better living conditions, and prospects for their children’s futures. When they arrived, Lawrence was a booming textile center, a leading producer of woolens. Her father, Jared, was a 30-year old farmer, strong and accustomed to hard work, which he readily found upon his arrival. Lawrence mills were reaching their pinnacle of production, and treatment of the mostly foreign-born workers became ever-more unacceptable, as companies continually pushed their employees for higher output.

The woolen and cotton mills employed over 40,000 persons, about half of Lawrence's population over age fourteen...Office workers averaged about $8.76 for a full week's work. In addition, the cost of living was higher in Lawrence than elsewhere in New England. Rents, paid on a weekly basis, ranged from $1.00 to $6.00 a week for small tenement apartments in frame buildings which the Neil Report found "extra hazardous" in construction and potential firetraps. Congestion was worse in Lawrence than in any other city in New England; mill families in 58 percent of the homes visited by federal investigators found it necessary to take in boarders to raise enough money for rent...Of the 22,000 textile workers investigated by Labor Commissioner Neil, well over half were women and children who found it financially imperative to work in the mills. Half of all the workers in the four Lawrence mills of the American Woolen Company were girls between ages fourteen and eighteen. Dr. Elizabeth Shapleigh, a Lawrence physician, wrote: "A considerable number of the boys and girls die within the first two or three years after beginning work . . . thirty-six out of every 100 of all the men and women who work in the mill die before or by the time they are twenty-five years of age. Because of malnutrition, work strain, and occupational diseases, the average mill worker's life in Lawrence was over twenty-two years shorter than that of the manufacturer, stated Dr. Shapleigh...  Early in January 1912 I.W.W. activities focused on a dramatic ten-week strike of 25,000 textile workers in Lawrence, Massachusetts. It became the most widely publicized I.W.W. conflict, acquainting the nation with the plight of the unskilled, foreign-born worker as well as with the organization's philosophy of radical unionism. 

(Joyce Kornbluh, Lucy Parsons Project Bread and Roses: The 1912 Lawrence textile Strike, webpage (www.lucyparsonsproject.org/iww/kornbluh_bread_ roses.html : accessed June 2008); citing: Kornbluh, Joyce, Rebel Voices: An IWW Anthology, (Chicago: Charles H. Kerr Publishing, 1988).)

Family stories say that Vernetta was not able to continue her education after graduation from the Emily G. Wetherby School in 1906 at age 14, and was obliged to go directly to work in the woolen mills. If she did, it was only for a short while. And she was very lucky to have survived, given the above-cited statistics!

The 1910 census tells us that by the age of 18, she had moved up to a position of bookkeeper in a grocery store, so we know that she was out of the horrible working conditions of the mills, and would have only witnessed, not participated in, the momentous Bread and Roses strike of 1912. The advantages of speaking English and looking like a Yankee, plus her own intelligence and drive, must have helped her tremendously. When her wedding was announced in 1913, she was described as “a popular operator at the local telephone exchange,” a job that she enjoyed. A story has been passed down in the family about her eavesdropping on a steamy conversation, and giving herself away by letting out a heartfelt sigh. This was risky behavior for a telephone operator!

I always attribute any brains in our family to my grandmother Vernetta. She surrounded herself with books, was very involved in the community and didn't give a hoot about housekeeping (she left that to my poor mother, eldest child!) Best of all, Grandma was a genealogist and passed the passion down to my mother, my aunt and me.

Imagine all of the lives wasted in those mills! I consider myself lucky to be alive when I read about the evil conditions there and I thank my grandmother for understanding that it was her continuing self-education that kept her out of them.