Kimmitt Genealogical Research

Showing posts with label family. Show all posts
Showing posts with label family. Show all posts

05 April 2016

Brian Robert Rowland Kimmitt, RIP Dear Father-in-Law


I am completely saddened to say that my much loved father-in-law, Brian, passed away four days ago. Being a genealogist, one of my first concerns was to pull together his death notice and obituary.

People often use the term obituary to refer to a death notice. They are not the same thing. The death notice is much shorter and serves just to give the critical information that someone has died, and to relay information about the funeral and burial. An obituary is longer, describes the person's life, family and loved ones, in as much detail as can be arranged, depending on cost or time. In modern times those are both paid notices. There are also cases in which a newspaper will decide to do an article on someone who has recently passed away at no cost to the grieving family. Some newspapers also call this an obituary, some do not, so it can get confusing.

Brian lived in England and procedures and wording are a bit different than in the States, but it is essentially the same. Here is the death notice the funeral home sent to local and national papers:

KIMMITT--Brian Robert Rowland. On 1st April, at the Countess, Chester. Brian, aged 85 years of Malpas, loving father to Myles and daughter-in-law, Polly, much loved Grandfather to Ryan, Nathan and Daniel, and great friend to Anne.

Funeral Service at St. Oswald’s, Malpas on Monday April 11th at 11am, followed by interment at Shocklach Church. Family flowers only please. Donations if desired to St. Oswald’s Church or Rotary Club of Whitchurch. Enquires to Rolfe’s, the Family Funeral Service, Whitchurch. Telephone (01948) 662209.


Rather stark, isn't it? Now below is the obituary I wrote for him. I kept to the facts and did not delve into his wit, humor or kindness because it was intended for a British (more conventional?) audience. But I feel it didn't really paint a proper picture of him. Perhaps the description of his personality has no place in an obituary. I don't know. When you're in the middle of grieving and arranging travel and funeral plans it's hard to get a sense of it all. But he sure led an interesting life.


KIMMITT

Brian Robert Rowland Kimmitt of Malpas, 85, died April 1st at the Countess of Chester Hospital. The son of Lt. Col. Gordon Robertson Kimmitt and Anne Hill (Meredith) Kimmitt, Brian was born 28 January 1931 at the Woolwich Army Barracks in the East End of London.

He attended Lancing College, Sussex, and received a BA and an MA from Trinity College, Dublin University. As a young man he worked in various schools in Dublin, Birmingham and finally in Berkshire where he met and married Rosemary Churton on April 4th, 1957.

He joined the Colonial Office in 1959, then took his young wife off to teach school in Kenya. Son Myles was born there shortly afterward. His 21-year career in East and West Africa culminated in his appointment as Chief Education Officer to the Federal Government in the East of Nigeria where he founded a 1,000-pupil college and acted as Educational Advisor to the Federal Military Governor. After their return to England in 1980 Brian ran a small engineering firm in Shrewsbury, and retired in 1988.

A 50-year member of The Rotary Club (inducted in Tanga), he belonged to The Rotary Club of Shrewsbury then Whitchurch, where he served as president in 1994-95. There he chaired the International Committee for several years, instigating matching grants in Ethiopia and Tanzania with Water Aid.

Always keen on the outdoor life, he climbed Kilimanjaro four times, and walked to the peaks of Mt. Kenya three times. He played most sports, but particularly enjoyed tennis and sailing. He owned two Cessna airplanes and clocked up a thousand hours as a private pilot. He was a Lay Reader in the Church of England for many years.

A widower since 2001, Brian devoted his time to church activities along with his volunteer work with the Masons and the Rotary. He enjoyed socializing and traveling with his companion Anne Proudlove. Since 1990 he has spent two months a year with his son’s family in America and loved watching his grandsons grow up.

Loving father to Myles and daughter-in-law Polly, and grandfather to Ryan, Nathan, and Daniel. He leaves his brother Maurice FitzGerald Kimmitt and sisters-in-law Mhairi Kimmitt and Sheelagh Churton. He also leaves his very special friend, Anne Proudlove, who devoted herself to him, and cared for him in his waning years. He was predeceased by his wife, Ida Rosemary (Churton) Kimmitt and brothers Richard Desmond FitzGerald Kimmitt and Michael Richard Kimmitt.

Funeral services will be held April 11th at 11:00 am at St. Oswald’s church in Malpas. In lieu of flowers donations may be made to: The Rotary Club of Whitchurch (http://www.surftech.co.uk/rotary/Main/index.htm).





Okay, he did a lot of interesting things, but we still don't get a sense of him as a man. But I have a blog, and though my blogger expert friends would tell me this post is too long, well, it's my blog and I'll write what I want to! Brian lived a long full life and there's much to be said.

What I really wanted to talk about was how he welcomed me into the family so warmly. He was a charmer, and gracious, and was able to set anyone at ease (except, perhaps, naughty grandsons). Before Myles and I were married we visited his parents, and every morning Brian would bring me a cup of coffee in bed! I took this as an excellent predictor of boyfriend's future behavior. An equal and opposite action in the evenings was delivery of a perfectly crafted gin and tonic, with just enough bite in it to make the conversation flow. He would then regale me with stories of their time in Africa and the joy would radiate across his face.

Brian loved family, especially children. He doted on only son Myles and often said he regretted they were unable to have more children. He and Myles called each other Gully, a remnant from something in Myles' childhood. He taught Myles everything there is to know about mechanical bits, plumbing, car engines, world travel, home repair, and most of all, how to be a gentleman. He never spoke badly of anyone and never cursed. He was quietly religious and spent many years being a lay reader, often "taking the service" when the local vicar was off somewhere, and I can attest that his sermons were very well written and executed. He had a lovely singing voice and we even sang a few Hallelujah choruses together driving around in Massachusetts.

Brian and Rosemary came to stay with us for two months of every year until Rosemary's death in 2001. While I found it extremely challenging to have household guests for that length of time, it nevertheless gave us two additional guiding minds to help our boys grow into the fine fellows they are today. Granny and Granddad had strict standards of behavior (and not just for the kids!), and we encouraged them to make their opinions known to the boys. Once we had small children running around, the evening cocktail received a new nickname: "anti-buggering fluid," as in, "give her some anti-buggering fluid," which meant that Mom was wound up at the end of the day and needed calming. At that point, though, I had to keep my wits about me, however much I might have wanted to fade out a bit, and that put Brian's nose out of joint--that I wouldn't join him in a long slow cocktail at dusk. When you have three hungry boys clamoring for food and a dinner for four adults to put on you can't indulge!


Brian rejoiced in the accomplishments of his son and grandsons. When Rosemary died in 2001 Myles' office sent us a nice potted plant that flourished (we still have it!) and he never failed to remark on how highly Myles' boss must have thought of him to send such a potted plant. To him that plant represented compassion, reward, and admiration, even. As for the grandsons, he adored them beyond measure. Once they got big enough for him to get a good hold on, and that didn't take long, he never let go. He fed them their "bops", gave them baths, read stories, tucked them in, played Monopoly, watched baseball, cheering on the Boston Red Sox in their World Series win after an 86-year lag in 2004, and rejoicing as much as any local fan did. He attended their baseball games, graduations, their violin concerts, anything they had on when he was here. His big regret was not being able to make the trip last year to see Daniel graduate. Being an educator, he was thoroughly pleased with the fine education the fellows received at St. John's High School, and appreciated the input they had into turning them into fine young men.

He used to get his battle gear on when companies made mistakes or treated him badly. He was furious at American Airlines for canceling their direct Boston-Manchester flight and engaged in a protracted letter-writing campaign with them for years! He complained to the CEO. ticket agents, the air hostesses, the phone reservationists, anyone representing the company! Probably the baggage handlers, too. He once told me I didn't write enough angry letters!

After Rosemary passed away Brian was bereft. He moved to a smaller house in the sweet village of Malpas and took up a close friendship with Anne Proudlove. Anne provided much needed companionship and cheerful conversation and he brightened up and began to live his life as before. He adored her. He continued to come visit us, sometimes dragging Anne along, and even bought a condo so he could have his own "digs" nearby. He loved that place, and would wax on about how the wisdom of the realtor who found it for him, the fine view from his deck, the cherry trees, and how loud the fridge was.

I lost my father only two years after I met Brian but he happily stepped in as a substitute dad for me, and I loved him for that. I couldn't have asked for a better father-in-law. Rest in peace, Gully.


Happily, the local newspaper wishes to send a reporter out to talk to us to get a fuller picture of the man. Perhaps then we will get the right proportion of facts and emotional impact. When that is published I will post it here.


09 March 2015

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...






28 September 2010

My Mother's Genealogy Research Log/Travel Diary from May 1981

Three of four sisters and five siblings
Abbie (Barnes) Thompson, Priscilla (Barnes) FitzGerald
and Louise (Barnes) Sullivan, later Dodds
circa 1980, Scituate, Mass.
I miss my mother every day. She was so alive with curiosity and humor and integrity and love. Above all, she was really, really bright. Had a great memory and could, inter alia, calculate math problems in her head, knit argyle socks on size 0 needles, do the NY Times crossword in pen if she wanted (she was too humble to do so), tend a mean vegetable and flower garden, cane chairs, and she loved history and genealogy. She was patient and worked hard at everything and didn't get many official vacations, so she used everyday opportunities to have fun. I keep wishing she were around to experience genealogy on the web, and the big conferences, and all of the fun and rewarding things I get to do.

Happily, my mother, Priscilla, or "Ma," as I called her, kept the a few diaries in her lifetime. On this occasion, she and my Aunt Abbie managed to get away from their domestic duties long enough to go on genealogy tour! And happily again, she kept a diary of the trip. I just love this more than I can explain. I was flitting around in college at the time, totally NOT interested in genealogy, glad that my mother and aunt could have a grand time together, but thinking their research and interest in genealogy was, well, quaint. Now I'd forfeit a limb to have been on that trip with them. Such is life, I guess. "Don't it always seem to go," yada yada...

So, here it is, I know I have some photos of their trip in my office somewhere, but it will have to remain for another time that I unearth and post them. I added a few follow-up emails from my darling and equally brilliant Aunt Abbie which she wrote after I sent her the transcription.


Notes from Priscilla FitzGerald’s Diary, 
"Trip to Frederickton, New Brunswick with sister Abbie Thompson, for Purpose of Ancestor Hunting"
May, 1981

Wednesday, May 20, 1981
Left home at 9:45am. Take off at 11:20. Lovely seat, companion from Phoenix Arizona - said, "Don't make me look out the window or the plane will fall." Had to put down and go through customs in Yarmouth. Arrived in Halifax 2:30 or so. Had to wait for Provincial Air lines flight to Fredericton until 6:30. Arr. in Fredericton 7:25. Abbie already familiar with the city. Had late supper of seafood chowder which was yummy. Late to bed – long after 12. (In parenthesis in margin, "Called Jim.")

Thursday, May 21, 1981
Had breakfast at hotel (Hotel Beaverbrook). To the Archives at 8:30. Had lunch at Keddy Motel. To Archives until 5:00pm. Bought book at Archives autographed by author Rob't Fellows. Found that John Hagerman owned land where the Legislative buildings are (and Hotel Beaverbrook) and died on the way back to St. John after a trip to Fredericton. Shopped for food and booze, came back to hotel to sample same. Had a late supper and went to bed late. (In margin, "Called Hagermans to tell Doris we would be out Sunday.")

Friday May 22, 1981
Slept until 7:20. Five minutes late getting to the Archives. Found Peleg Tripp's parents were Peleg Tripp and Jane Ogden. Lovely late dinner – fish dinner. Sitting around relaxing and Abbie says, "One nice thing about this trip, no phones are ringing." Phone rang. Paul Brewer called and arranged to travel with us Saturday. Played 2-handed bridge. To bed late.

Saturday, May 23, 1981
Up at 6:00am - breakfasted on cheese omelet. Picked up Paul Brewer across the river and went to Tripp Settlement, Burtt's Corners. Jones Forks examining cemetaries. Saw where the Mactaquac Dam has risen and filled up the valley with water. Paul talked to a Harry Gilbey and he says that prob. Peleg Tripp (the first – Loyalist) was prob. buried on a ridge near Keswick Ridge on his own property. Said Peleg was supposed to be a wheeler-dealer. Had lunch at the lovely Mactaquac Country Club. Went shopping for booze for Jim, present for Polly and slippers. Raw and very windy out. Walked a long way looking for a book store – which was closed. Late supper and late to bed.

Sunday, May 24, 1981
Rose early enough, but didn't get under weigh until 7:20. Motored up to Hartland to see and drive over and back on the longest wooden bridge in the world. Came back down #2 highway and crossed the river at Nackawic. Had a little difficulty finding our Hagermans, but found them. First, we went to church and there was Neil Hagerman. (Passed a church with the steeple lying on the ground.) Doris and Neil Hagerman not very interested in our visit, but Donnie was there and we both loved him. He took us down to show us how high the river had risen – their house would be about one third of the way across the river – showed us all the pictures of the family and went with us to see the Bear Island Cemetery – where his father and mother, grandfather and mother and great grandfather and mother and Aunt Maud and Cousin Alma Lint are buried.*  Beautiful cemetery on a high hill. Donald is a lovely man. Weather fine. People boating on the river. Found that "Captain J. Hagerman d. 1838 aged LVI also May his wife died Dec. 26, 1849 aged 72 years." were bd. there. Mary was born in Long Island. Also buried, but with no stones were Isaac and Louisa and Jacob and Mehitabel. Myles Hagerman was buried in B. I. Cemetery also. (Donnie's brother.) Major domo at church presented Ab and me with a pen and key ring. All kinds of birds to be seen. Donnie stated matter-of-factly that Doris is "senile now." No apologies. No glossing.
Happy hour.
Had a fisherman's platter for dinner. (Ate junk food and nothing else all day.) Wrote cards. To bed late.
*Probably Cornelius, father of Jacob, and his wife are there, too, but nobody knows. Because of the Mactaquac Dam, Church, cemetery, inhabitants, live inhabitants and all were moved uphill. Interesting. Cornelius was son of Captain John. Donnie gave Abbie a piece of yellow brick for her fireplace. (In margin, "Called Jim, Louise and Anne.")

May 25, 1981 Monday
Up early and to Archives. Found that Betsey Smith's parents were Stephen Smith and Elizabeth Golden. A good find. Had lunch at the Keddy – onion soup and a poor drink. Back to Archives until 4:00pm or so and then to Harriet Irving Library and then to Geary to see the Carr Cemetery and then around Grand Lake to see Cumberland Point where John Stillwell was at one time – Sparsely settled. Looked in all the church yards but couldn't find any Stillwells. Crossed the St. John River on a ferry boat and came home the scenic way. Arrived at hotel 8:30 had a quick sherry and braised beef for supper. All the apple orchards are in bloom. Very pretty. Also found Grandmother Jones (Isaac Hagerman's family), and Jared Jones (Darius Jones' family) in the 1881 census list. He was 20 and she was 12.

Tuesday, May 26, 1981
Up early – breakfasted at hotel and got to Archives at 8:30. Didn't find anything new but tied up loose ends of a couple of things. Had to get stamps and get my money out of hotel safe, so we came back to hotel to have lunch. Returned to Archives and spent an hour or more and then took a tour up around Kewsick Ridge and Burtt's Corner and looked at 3 or 4 more cemeteries. Rain off and on. Returned to hotel about 7:30. Had happy hour and ate an enormous and delicious and expensive dinner across the street at the Victoria and Albert restaurant. Had 2 sherries, a tossed salad, lamb chops and braised tomatoes, and tasty mushrooms and then half a piece of fresh strawberry cheesecake and coffee. Saw beautiful scenes on our trip today and yesterday and Sunday and Saturday. Came upon 2 young men stranded in the wilderness but as I had a lot of money on me, we passed them by. But stopped at the first house we saw to report that they should be helped. Hope they were. (In parenthesis in margin, "Called Jim.")

E-mail from Ab. Oct. 1997
My Loyalist number is----MC  2041-80, and I think it was through John Stillwell. They wanted me to go through Hagerman because it was closer to my generation.  But I knew that would then go through Vernetta, and we had no birth for her. Stillwell came down through Jared Jones so was easier to prove. Maybe I can send you my line. If I can find it. Lots of Loyalists we have--Hagerman, Ogden, maybe Tripp, Smith, Stillwell, Boone, Burtt, Golden, Foreman, Carr, Whelpley, but not the Joneses. They were pre-Loyalist.

E-mail from
Ab. 11/7/97
Thank you for the diary of your Ma's re that week in Fredericton, N.B. Except when I was a little girl and sick a lot in winter & your Ma would read lovely books to me that week was the nicest time I ever had with Priscilla. We were doing what we both loved and had a peachy time besides.

20 September 2009

SNGF- Ahnentafel Roulette




Last night's request for SNGF (Saturday Night Genealogy Fun) by blogger Randy Seaver from Genea Musings is Ahnentafel Roulette. Here are the instructions:

Here is your assignment if you choose to play along:
1) How old is your father now, or how old would he be if he had lived? Divide this number by 4 and round the number off to a whole number. This is your “roulette number.”
2) Use your pedigree charts or your family tree genealogy software program to find the person with that number in your ahnentafel. Who is that person?
3) Tell us three facts about that person with the “roulette number.”
4) Write about it in a blog post on your own blog, in a Facebook note or comment, or as a comment on this blog post.
5) If you do not have a person’s name for your “roulette number” then spin the wheel again – pick your mother, or yourself, a favorite aunt or cousin, or even your children!

Here is mine, a day late, hopefully not a dollar short:

My father, James Edmund FitzGerald, was born 1 August 1910, so he'd be 99 today. Wow. Divide that by 4 and you get almost 25.

# 25 in my Ahnentafel is Olive (Litchfield) Barnes, 31 Dec 1820 to 22 August 1886. She's my gg grandmother. Olive is one of my favorite ancestors, mainly because the above image of her hung on my Aunt Louise's and then my brother Jed's wall all through my childhood. Poor Olive was the subject of great mocking by children because of her dour expression. I bet she was about the age I am now, 54, when this portrait was done.

Here are three quick facts:

1. Of of her four grandparents, three were Litchfields.

2. Olive's paternal grandfather, Capt. Daniel Litchfield [Sr.] built a house in Scituate which my brother bought in the 1970s. When Aunt Louise gave Jed and his wife Regina the portrait of Olive it was as if she had come back home.

3.  She died of a cerebral embolism.

The most striking element of Olive's life concerns the children she bore and lost. She and her husband, Israel Merritt I had only one child who survived to adulthood: Israel Merritt Barnes II. The Vital Records of Scituate, Massachusetts to 1850 showed the deaths of two little girls within eight days, both of them from tummy troubles: i.e. "dysentary" and "bowel complaint." My mother always said that IMB II spent away the family fortunes, and did so because he was a spoiled brat, born an incredibly long 17 years after their deaths. Plenty of time to long for, and then spoil a child.

In pursuit of certification, I looked into this family in more detail and was quite thrilled to uncover the birth of another baby, which took place between the deaths of the two girls and birth of IMB II. It started with an entry on Ancestry World Tree, a place I don't often visit for serious genealogical pursuit. However, I was really puzzled as to why someone from Scituate would have entered this birth and death, so I contacted the author. It turned out her mother was a friend of my Aunt Abbie, grew up in Scituate, and probably got the information, whether directly or indirectly, from an elderly genealogist friend of the family, who may have actually remembered the event! I knew her mother's name very well: Polly. I'd heard it growing up but don't think I ever actually met her. I can count on one hand the number of Pollys I've met. I couldn't ignore that posting, so I persisted and eventually pinned down a newpaper notice that confirmed the birth and death of a baby Webster in 1855, 11 years after the girls died, 6 years before IMB II was born. Following that, I found conclusive evidence in church records in the Scituate Archives.

It's always hard finding information on women. The poor things were restricted in what they could do, so they didn't leave anywhere near as many records. However, the joys and pains of childbirth are something I can relate to, and though I used to mock poor Olive in my youth (see below), I have a great amount of respect for her now that I've grown up.


Making the Dour Olive face, 1986
Laura FitzGerald, Priscilla FitzGerald, Polly FitzGerald.

16 September 2009

Cousin Frank's Violin

My mother kept her ironing basket in a laundry closet right outside my bedroom door when I was very young. I loved it because it also held her most treasured personal keepsakes: fancy gloves (which she never wore); costume jewelry; letters from her pen pal; and buried at the back under wrinkled dress shirts and aprons, an ancient violin. When I wouldn't go down for a nap, she would sit by the closet and fuss around with her things while I eavesdropped from my crib. Hearing her rustling set off my imagination and usually did the trick. 
Once in a blue moon I'd awaken from my nap with questions about the violin. She would pull it out with solemn reverence and open the battered case. The strings were broken, the finish dull, and it had a musty smell that could knock a three-year old girl right over. She probably initially brought it out just to humor me, but I wasn't allow to touch it! Here was this beat-up old violin and she wouldn't let me fiddle with it, literally! I would get frustrated that it couldn't be played and I think because of that shunned it when later in life I chose to play the flute instead. 

As I grew up, we'd occasionally pull it out on days when absolutely nothing was going on: probably in the highest heat of summer. What I remember most is that I could see she had really loved playing it when she was young. She had been tutored in music by her "Cousin Frank," who I had always thought was a Jones relative (her mother's maiden name) from Lawrence. Her eyes would sparkle as she reminisced about the letters he would send her when he wasn't visiting the homestead in Scituate. 

Now. I sort of forgot about this guy. My mother gave the violin to her sister, Abbie, who gave it to her daughter, my cousin, because she played the violin. I think they had it appraised and it wasn't worth much, so I don't believe she ever restored it to playing condition, if that was even possible. Note to self (ask Betsy!) If Priscilla was playing it as a young girl, it couldn't have been very valuable or my grandmother wasn't very smart. Since I know Grandma was a highly intelligent lady, then it must have been a run-of-the-mill student instrument. Anyway, it was always love, not value that made my mother's eye twinkle. That's why she gave it to Betsy, aka "Pet."

But who was this Cousin Frank? My mother passed away in 1996 when I was in the throes of raising two out of three of my wildly boys, and by then her mind was confusing details. When we talked genealogy, which was frequently, it was on the topic of brick walls and mostly in direct lines.  Looking back now, I realize that no matter how confused her memories were getting, I should have just sat down with a tape recorder and got her to tell me everything. I bet she would have got the Cousin Frank story straight because she was an original source, and it happened when her mind was fresh.

So I was left wondering. Was he the same guy that she went out of her way to honor every Memorial Day? An isolated grave, far away from the main family graves, that we would also decorate? All I knew was that she had the same kind of wistful smile when we visited that grave as she did when she talked about Cousin Frank.  I searched the cemetery but the only Frank I found was Frank E. Clapp who fought in the Spanish American War. A quick check on Ancestry places him in the 1880 household of Charles W. and Abby B. Clapp. His birth year is 1871. Looking at the NEHGS online database "Mass Vital Records 1841-1910," (Births 1871:242:441) I find he is son of Charles Whitcomb Clapp and Abby Billings (Merritt). You can't say no relation when they've all been living within two miles of each other for two hundred and fifty years, but I'll say no close relation. So the Frank Clapp is just a red herring and will have to rest in peace.

Happily, I have two artifacts in my possession that have helped me identify this Cousin Frank. They have been in my "treasures" box of old family papers and photos, preserved, but not published. It wasn't until I started the process of becoming a certified genealogist that I really began critically examining every scrap of paper. In my portfolio, I refer to these treasures as "Barnes Family Papers." Just so you know.

I found the calling card shown below and surely let out a huge AHA at the time!


F. B.[sic] Barnes
March and Circle.
1. Waltz,
2. Galop,
3. Quadrille,
4. Schottische,
5. Waltz,
6. Lanciers,
7. Caprice,
8. Polka,
9. Portland Fancy,
10. Waltz,
11. Galop,
12. Lanciers.
13. Schottische,
14. Galop,
15. Waltz,




F. P. Barnes' Concert Ball Room Orchestra,
694 Washington Street, Boston



A search on his background reveals that he is Franklin Pierce Barnes, son of Elijah Vinal Barnes and Lydia D. Studley [NEHGS (Births 1853:74:16)]. This means that he was the first cousin twice removed of my mother! His father Elijah was one of my mother's great-grandfather Joseph Barnes' twin brothers, the other being Elisha.
And what's that in his hand? A violin! He looks like a lively sort of fellow, just the kind that would turn a little girl's head. He probably taught the girls to dance, too. No wonder she got a twinkle.
To seal the deal, I found a charming letter from him to my grandmother Vernetta. At this point, my mother, Priscilla, the eldest, would have just been turning 20. Her only brother, Billy/Willie, wwould have been 14, a lot older than he sounds here.
-----
                                Boston Dec. 20th 1934
Well _ Well Well Vernetta,  
That was some card I received this A.M.
and was very much pleased with It
I see little Willie in it holding the
lantern and Myself Playing the Great Great
Big Fiddle (Tell little Willie) with my
tall hat on.
Who the Lady was singing I can not
make out, I seem to think the man
with the tall Hat, playing the trombone
is A man that drives one of the
White Milk Trucks from Wollaston, down
through Scituate. (Tell little Willie and the
children) I am very much pleased with
the card, Tell the Cildren, and how they will
laugh. and what a time they wil have
talking about it. I can well understand –
I am sorry to hear about your Cow.
We are having good weather for this
time of the year, and I hope it will
continue. When it is convenient for you,
you let me know when to come Down,
and talk music to the Children
                                                       over
Tell the children the music
on the card, was very very very
melodious, and charming, (and how
they will Laugh). What a time they
will have when you read this note
to them.
Ask Priscilla to keep at all of
them. to know the. Do. De. Ray. Re.
me.Far. etc. up and down the cromatic
scale. that is the sylablic,
they can then go ahead very fast.
Ask Her Please to have little Willie
stand up with them.
I hope you are all Well. and Please
let me know when to call.
(Is Wm. going up and down in his Car-
this Winter?)
        So good by to all hands
        until later. And a Merry
        Christmas and Love to the Children
        Franklin P. Barnes
        #83 Carver St__
                                     Boston__
How could you not love this guy? So focused on children at 81 years of age! I haven't done any more research on him, but I tend to think he had no children. Someday I will add more detail to his life (is he buried at Mt. Hope Cemetery in Scituate, e.g.?), but for now it is enough to reflect on how one man's spirit can trickle down through the ages. Thank goodness we have people like Cousin Frank! My son Daniel plays the violin now. And he loves his music teacher. The teacher is nothing like Cousin Frank, but he loves Dan, too, because he's an old soul. He says Dan is the only student he has that lowers his blood pressure. I just hope that someday Dan's teacher gets remembered as fondly as good old Cousin Frank is remembered today.

15 September 2009

Tombstone Tuesday – The American Cemetery in Normandy



Last summer we took the boys to England to visit relatives and friends. From there we embarked on a 10-day holiday in northern France. When they weren't whining about missing their friends and championship sporting events, they really enjoyed being tourists. Despite themselves, I think they may have also learned a thing or two.

One of our most moving stops was Normandy, site of some of the most brutal fighting in World War II. In a bizarre parallel of the Invasion of Normandy, we traveled by ferry from Southampton to Cherbourg. It was a smooth sailing, and as we dined comfortably on breakfast, we tried to evoke images in their young minds of what it must have been like for those soldiers en route on 5-6 June 1944. We had watched a few movies before setting off, like The Longest Day(for Myles and me) andSaving Private Ryan (for the boys, too gory for me. I can imagine evisceration without it being graphically depicted, thank you), and this made a convenient reference for certain parts of the battles.

We drove along the still very sparsely populated coast, through tiny but familiarly named towns like Pointe du Hoc and Ste Mère Eglise. We stopped there to to glance around, imagining the horror of war, and even saw the effigy of the poor parachutist who got stuck on the church tower (see above). We were there just a few days after the celebrations of the 64th anniversary of D-Day, and I noticed the boys casting sidelong glances at some elderly gentlemen, obviously veterans, who were also touring the countryside. I wanted to invite them to come along with us. They are precious.

The locals were all very friendly and welcomed us with smiles and a courteous attempt to understand the boys' (and my!) French. You can see that even people who were not alive in WW2 still recognize the contributions the Americans, British and Canadians made. We were glad we had skipped Paris – this time, at least.

Next day we motored over to the American Cemetery in Colleville Sur Mer. Most people have at least seen it on television, as we had, but there is nothing like being there. It is set in a most splendidly glorious spot on a bluff overlooking Omaha Beach. When you first arrive, you admire the setting, noting how beautiful the world can be. It is so still that you hear the birds, even with 3 boys in tow. The museum is strategically placed so that you visit it before entering the cemetery. I think it serves both to educate and to prepare people for the experience.

BOOM, there you are, transported back in time, watching scratchy black and white films of wave after wave of seasick and petrified soldiers jump off the boats to almost certain death. Relentless Nazis gun them down. "They are all so young," I tell the boys, "That's you, next year, Ry." You see bits of their uniforms, photos of old French peasant women running down the tiny streets, waving and smiling, offering loaves of bread to soldiers. Young girls kissing them. All the while the sounds of guns and waves and death screams meander in and around the speeches of leaders lending hope and inspiration.

Then BOOM again. You emerge, blinking, into the bright sunshine. Echoes of the battle din reverberate in the stark silence. Perfect weather mocks their memory. All is calm and serene. You stand there in a bit of shock. Now you're ready to visit the cemetery.

Row upon row upon row of symmetrically placed crosses stand at attention in military precision overlooking the beaches, bearing witness to the horrors of war. I sent the boys off on a mission so I could enjoy the peace. I was moved by the occasional Star of David marker, and when I came upon the one below, of Sam Rubin, I stopped to photograph it.

SAM RUBIN
PVT 358 INF 90 DIV
MO JUNE 15 1944


As I took my face away from the camera, one son came along and said, "Oh, somebody left dirt on this one," and swiftly brushed it away, before I could let out a yelp of alarm. For Jews it is an act of respect to continue in the "mitzvah" of marking a grave by placing pebbles or dirt on the stone. It is a way to indicate participation in the mitzvah of erecting a tombstone, even if only in a more symbolic way. It shows that someone has visited, someone remembers.

After a brief lecture by Mom, suitable replacement stones were laid with great ceremony, accompanied by an apology to Private Rubin.

We looked at hundreds of stones that day, came across makeshift flower memorials that get cleaned up every evening by the staff. We found Medal of Honor winners and all sorts of funny names and things to spark the imagination of boys. But the one we remember most will always be Sam Rubin.



07 September 2009

Monday Madness - an Excuse to Go Goofy

These blogging prompts are fun. On Mondays we are encouraged to discuss madness, whether that of ancestors or our own in crazy pursuit of them. I love how the blogging world lets you just take the prompt and run with it, so tonight I shall release a little pent up anxiety and frustration over the fact that I never seem to have enough "thoughtful time" to actually work on my genealogy. It makes me crazy! Not in the same way my Aunt Mary was crazy. I mean, I'm not collecting empty milk cartons and lining them up all around the edges of every room in my house. I didn't have a nervous breakdown because the local pharmacist promised to marry me but instead ran off with his own wife. Yeah. And I've never howled like a banshee on Christmas Eve. Poor Aunt Mary. I feel sad about her life, and they never even let me meet her.

But I'm not that kind of crazy – just the highly vexed kind of crazy. The kind where you are hyper aware of the irony in carefully researching and writing about your ancestors whilst hurriedly caring for your descendants. And lamenting the fact that you can't spend enough time on either because you have complete strangers to research for: ones that expect quick turnaround and don't want to hear that your eldest son just broke a knuckle trying to take out the next son in line, and you didn't expect to be at the doctor's three times in a week, once for surgery. Clients are not interested in the fact that living with four males with ADD (only one diagnosed, and that is only borderline, but trust me...) can make for scatterbrained living.

I try so hard. I'll be editing a footnote, for instance, realizing that I've erroneously placed the [penned] page number before the enumeration district, and I calmly highlight and cut the enumeration district, but before I have time to paste it in it's proper place, someone lets out a bloodcurdling scream, and with that shot of adrenaline, I'm out of my chair, ears pricked, waiting for the thud. Any thought of pasting the enumeration district totally obliterated. It's not like you can go back and see the error again, because half of it is gone. You have to hope you'll notice there is now no enumeration district, but because the adrenaline is still doing its thing, you may not.

For this reason I am glad that it is back-to-school time. I am in desperate need of long stretches of time in which to complete sensible editing. I love being a Mom. I adore my boys and love to be with them, but in summer it is really hard to find those large chunks of time. Whether it be for an orthodontist appointment, to cycle another load of laundry through, to drive them to the park to play flag football, or to a trombone lesson, or to cook for them and their overnight guests, or even the eternal grocery shopping, a LOT of my time is dedicated to them. And that's the way I want it. Hubby and I both consider it the ultimate luxury for a family to have a parent who can be at home with the kids. Mine are getting older now, but we all still see great value in this. Soooo, I work when I can. And in summer, that means less.

I have a couple of client reports that are well overdue and it is eating away at me. Starting tomorrow, I hope to start eating away at them instead! It's only a four-day week, but it seems like plenty of time to start getting caught up. Wish me luck!


26 August 2009

Intro - Juggling Family and Genealogy

I have lots of interests, but there are only two that consume me: family and genealogy, and in a way they are related. To be fair, I love working on anyone's genealogy, so the connection is thin. My other interests, knitting, walking, travel, singing in a chorus, are just that: interests. Family and genealogy are what light my life and I guess I'll write my blog with a focus on them.

This photo of our three sons was taken about 1998, when I was just beginning to get really serious about genealogy. I started the NGS Basic Course in American Genealogy about then. By the time the little one was out of diapers I had finished the course and was doing little jobs for friends, pro bono, of course. All I wanted to do was read, read, read. I continued to work on my own family genealogy, much of which had been researched already by my mother, aunt and grandmother.

The internet was still very young, so there wasn't much to do on it in 1998. I had, however, been using it since before it was called "the internet." I used to belong to bulletin boards, especially on AOL, and posted the occasional query. More frequently than I posted, though, I answered questions from books in my already substantial library. Things really started hopping as the internet grew. I can remember how long it seemed between the announcement that FamilySearch.org was coming online and the actual date it happened. Seemed like forever. And when it finally did, so many people flocked to it that it crashed.

Rootsweb and USGenWeb were well underway and the amount of information available started to explode. Subscription services like Ancestry got me really hooked. The New England Historic and Genealogical Society (NEHGS) came rather late to the game, but is gaining speed.

The web hasn't stopped its logarithmic expansion. I would have stayed with genealogy with or without the internet, but having information accessible immediately, for free, gave a jolt to the profession and enabled me to learn much more than I otherwise would have been able to while caring for three young children. Not only did it help me learn, but it created a whole new realm of people who became fond of genealogy once they caught a glimpse of the 1880 census, and completely overwhelmed about three months later. That's when they call in the professionals.

That was then and this is now. The eldest boy is entering college. The other two are still home requiring my skills as a driver, teacher, chef, maid, policewoman, nurse and loving mother. This, I happily do. But when I'm not tending to hearth and home, I'm managing genealogy projects. I don't know what this blog actually will come to, but think I need to write it, if only for myself.