Shadrack Charles Watson
- GIVN: Shadrack Charles
- SURN: Watson
- Sex: M
- Born: 14 Mar 1844 in Newnham, Southhampton, England
- Died: 4 May 1901 in Mountain View, Alberta, Canada
- Buried: 5 May 1901 in Mountain View, Alberta, Canada 1880
- Baptized: 1881 in Mendon, Cache, Utah, United States
- _UID: F6CB843D2A0111DAB9B700A0CC5D9B65D1B8
- Record last updated: 30 Nov 2013
- TIME: 11:39
This is the story of the life of my father and mother
As I (Malinda 'Linnie' Watson Parker), can remember it after many years.
Written and first distributed in December 1958
SHADRACH CHARLES WATSON
KEZIA CHAPMAN WATSON
Mother and I were very close for a number of years after Father's death, and after the other girls of the family were married and gone from home. The boys were busy with the farm and ranch work, so that Mother and I were often alone through the days. On the ranch, far from neighbors and without the modern conveniences of phone, radio, or television, there was a great deal of time to talk.
Mother seemed to like best to sit at the table after noontime lunch and reminisce for an hour. We never hurried away from the lunch table, it was sort of a special hour, to rest and relax. It was then she liked to take her "forty winks". I never remember her lying down to rest during the day, but she would sit and nod for a while and it seemed to do her just as much good as a lengthy nap. Anyway, it was during this siesta period that I heard her tell of incidents of her childhood and early life. Some of them I remember well enough to tell, but most of them now, after so many years, seem too far gone from my memory to recall with any accuracy.
Mother was born January 1 1848, in the village of Kedington, Suffolk County, England, to William Chapman and Ann Kenneday Knock Chapman. Her father was a baker by trade and his bakery shop was adjoining the house. Mother was one of the middle members of quite a large family. Several children died in infancy, but of those who lived, there were two sisters older than she: Frances Kezia, and Matilda; and two sisters younger: Mary Ann (Polly) and Malinda. The two brothers, William and Alfred, were both older than Mother.
It seemed that theirs was a happy family of the middle class. They were sent to church and to school. The church was the Episcopal Church and the school was a private school. Mother said she was sent to school at the age of two. She learned to read from the Bible, and could not remember when she could not read. She was also taught to crochet, and they were made to do a lot of it during school. The teacher sold the lace they made to help pay for her work of teaching.
Mother's father had been married before. (I do not know the name of the girl he married.) She was a beautiful girl (or so mother was told)-an actress. The marriage had turned out badly and they had separated, so when he decided to marry again he looked for someone who was not popular because of her beauty, and he found such a one in Ann Knock.
Ann was a beautiful child, they say, exceptionally pretty up to age nine years, when she had an accident that marred her face for life. She had climbed on a chair to reach something from a high mantle over the fireplace. The chair slipped and she was thrown on to the fire, and was severely burned. One whole side of her face was drawn out of shape by the ugly scar. Her facial beauty was gone, but she must have had a very beautiful spirit, for Mother says she was so kind and patient, and a wonderful mother.
The house they lived in must have been quite large, with the bakery shop and living quarters. I remember her telling about flagstone floors and an upstairs part of the house.
She told of coming home from church one morning when she was a tiny girl, and as she opened the door the sun was shining right on the face of the great grandfather clock which stood on the landing. She ran through the house screaming, "Mother, mother, God's on the landing!"
There seemed to be something very unusual about Mother's experiences. Several times she was given information or direction by a voice. The first time it came to her was when she was almost fourteen years of age. She was sitting in church when a voice said to her, "Next Sunday at this time you will not have a father." It startled her and she went home and that week her father became ill and died (October 2 1861). There seems to be no reason for the warning, it is hard to understand, but I have heard Mother tell this incident many times. Her older brother William died shortly after her father died [most likely Spring of 1863]. Two years later her mother became ill and died (May 3 1865). Mother was seventeen years old when her mother died.
Just how long the siblings stayed in the home after their mother died, I do not remember, but I think it was not long until they left and went down to (or near) London and found employment. The two younger girls remained in Kedington for some time with friends. I think the minister helped the others to find good positions.
It was the custom at that time, and has been long since, for the members of a family who were bereaved of a loved one to wear nothing but black for a full year, then slightly modified with a touch of gray, white, or lavender for another year. So mother in her early teens began to wear black and before the two years had passed another of her family had passed on, and so, she said she wore only black all her younger years, and became so accustomed to it that she never felt dressed in anything else. I do not remember ever seeing her in anything but gray or black, even at home. She was always the picture of neatness. Her hair was always tidy, and usually she wore a zuching [stitching or suturing] of white lace at her neck. Mother was a fine looking woman, very dignified and lady like in all her ways. She had an abundance of almost black hair (which later, of course, was silver gray.) Her eyes were dark brown. She was about 5'4" in height and about 135 pounds in weight. Her health was usually good. Her nature was loving and kind and patient.
Back to her early life: After she left her childhood home and went up to (or near) London, she found a position as nurse in a wealthy clergyman's home. This was a home where they kept a full staff of servants-thirteen in all. Mother was head nurse in this home for several years. There were eight children in the family, some of them born while she was there. She had full responsibility of the younger ones, with the help of a nursemaid who did the more menial jobs. Mother had the care of them day and night, just as a mother would. Their own mother came into the nursery just for short visits to feed the tiny one or play with them for a few minutes each day.
Mother also did all the sewing for the children, most of it by hand. She went with the family on their trips to France, or to the seaside or wherever they went, when they took the children.
So, you see, she came to her marriage quite well trained and qualified to be the mother that she was to her own brood. She must have been with this family six or seven years, then she changed jobs a year or so before her marriage. She said she grew tired of such confining work and so she left, and took a position as a maid and companion to an elderly lady, a Mrs. Armatage, who treated her like a daughter, and she had more freedom to get out and meet people-and she met Father.
Father was boarding at the home of Mother's sister, Matilda. Mother visited her sister and that is where they met. A friendship began which led to marriage.
The marriage took place at St. Phillip's Church, Kennington, London, England, on September 4 1872. Father was twenty-eight years old, and Mother was twenty-four.
Now I will tell the little I know of Father's early life and family. I wish I knew more. Father, Shadrach Charles Watson, was born on March 14 1844, at Newpham, Southampton, England, To Shadrach Watson and Mary Cooper Watson. There were three other children: an older sister, Mary Annie, born December 6 1841, a younger sister, Rhoda born March 20 1846, and a younger brother, Ebenezer John, born July 21 1848.
I have never learned much of Father's home life and boyhood days. He always spoke very affectionately of his mother. (I used to like it when he told me I looked like his mother.) She was fair with blue eyes-that is all I know about her appearance. She died when Father was twelve years old. I remember his telling of that sad occasion. She died very suddenly while he was running to fetch his father from his work in the village. They said it was a stroke. She was only forty years old, and would have given birth to twins if she had lived a few weeks longer. She died on May 20 1856.
In 1852 his father and mother had heard the Gospel and joined the Church at that time. So for four years the children had been taught the Gospel, and were saving their pennies for the happy day when they could gather to Zion. The death of their dear mother was a sad ending to their happy plans.
They joined the Church at Newbury Berkshire in 1852. Here is a poem grandmother Mary Watson wrote, shortly after they had joined:
When first I heard God's servant preach
(a saint of latter day)
I thought the doctrine was so strange.
I did not want to stay;
He said they crucified the Lord
And His Apostles, too.
The Lord in righteous anger then
His Spirit had withdrew;
And they were left to wander
A long and dreary night
Till He, in mercy had once more
Restored the Gospel Light
He said an angel had been sent
The Gospel to restore
With gifts and blessings to the Church
As 'twas in days of yore.
I thought these things seemed strange indeed
In this enlightened age
To talk of sending angels
It put me in a rage!
But God, my Heavenly Father
Knew his erring child of dust
Though blinded by tradition
In Him was all my trust.
In mercy then once more He sent
A message unto me
And shewed me by his Holy work
I must obedient be.
I saw it was the Lord's command
No longer did oppose,
But straight arose, and was baptized
In spite of all my foes.
Then Brethren, Sisters, in the Lord
May we still faithful be,
That God may say to us at last
"My children, reign with me."
And when the Son of God Appears
With hosts of angels, too,
We'll ascribe the great salvation
To Him who brought us through.
Just how long Father stayed at home after his mother's death I am not sure, but I think it was only about two years. At about age fourteen he was on his own. His father married again to a widow named Ann Elms. She was a very good woman, and did all she could for the children. I don't know whether she was a member of The Church or not.
The children seem to have kept in close touch with each other even after Father left home. There are several poems in his book that were written from one to the other on special days like birthdays, etc., always very affectionate, and full of expressions of faith in the Gospel, with an uplifting religious tenor. Their greatest desire was to gather with the saints in Zion. This was especially true of the girls.
Father was lamplighter in the village, or town, where they lived for a time, but he finally got work with the railroad, where he stayed until they left England.
There are several years of Father's early manhood that seem to be entirely blank as far as any knowledge we have of him or his doings, except as we catch a glimpse of him through the poems he wrote during those years. They tell a lot of his fine mind and thoughts of his love of the beauties of nature, his sense of justice and truth and his faith in God and the Gospel.
It was during those years that several of his poems were published in the "Millenial Star". He evidently stayed close to the Church, for at age 23 he was ordained an Elder. We get this information from a poem his sister Rhoda wrote to him, honoring the occasion.
Called to the Priesthood
(to my dear brother Charles)
Called to the holy Priesthood
Called in the prime of youth.
Go forth, my noble brother
Help spread the Gospel truth.
Go with the proclamation
To the honest, kind, and true,
Teach others their salvation
As it has been taught to you.
God bless thee, O my Brother,
And guard thee day by day
That you may teach to others
The straight and narrow way
Remember thou the promise-
'Tis a promise we rely on-
Thou shalt stand in holy places
If faithful when in Zion.
Strive, Brother, to be faithful.
My Brother dear, be true.
Set others an example
In what you'd have them do.
God bless thy every effort
Crown thy labors with success
May you fulfill your calling
In all truth and righteousness.
By Rhoda Watson
London, August 10, 1867
Some of Father's poems must be included in this sketch; it is the only way we have of seeing his fine mind. We know that with such thoughts as these, he was keeping very close to the straight and narrow way. Here is one short verse, written 1867:
A True Hero
That man's a hero who the truth will prize
And follow in its path, where ere it lies.
Whether 'tis rough or smooth, wins smile or frown
He heedeth not applause, seeks not renown,
But onward plods, no matter what betide,
Truth is his standard and his only guide.
-- S.C. Watson 1867
There was a sweetheart in Father's earlier years, when he was about 20 or 21 years of age. Her name was Harriette Nye. He seemed to have been very much in love with her, but religion came between them. Her mother, on her deathbed, induced Harriette to promise she would not marry him unless he would give up his religion. This Father would not do, so they parted, but Father was quite broken up about it, and wrote several lonely poems during this time, such as:
I See Her Only in my Dreams
I see her only in my dreams,
Realities have long since fled,
Yet oft her form doth haunt my brain
When I recline upon my bed.
I see her only in my dreams
When sleep hath lulled my weary brain,
'Tis then alone her form I see,
'Tis then then I see my love again.
I see her only in my dreams
And then recur those scenes of yore,
But dreams are fading things. I wake
To find my love to me no more.
-- S.C. Watson 1869
The Old Lane
How dear to my soul is that dear old lane
As I pass and repass it again and again,
I think of the past forever gone by.
Yes, dear to my soul is that dear old lane
Tho' the sight of it bringeth a feeling of pain.
It recalleth to mind the vows which we made
Whilst lingering there 'neath the elm tree shade.
And often I glance at that same old gate
Where in days long departed we fondly would wait.
The old gate remaineth, the elms are there now,
But Maiden, pray what remains of thy vow?
-- S.C. Watson 1869
Then several years later, Father and Mother met and soon after began their lives together as Mr. and Mrs. S.C. Watson. I think they were quite happily married. Another of Father's poems would prove his happiness:
The Two Flowers
I cherished once a lovely Flower
It was my only pride
I tended it from hour to hour -
When winter came, it died.
The chilly blast it could not bear.
Tho' watched from day to day
Altho' it was my only care
It drooped and died away.
And then for years I vainly tried
To call again its life-
O'er its remains I vainly sighed
In vain was my heart's strife.
And still I wandered lonely on
Thinking of that loved bloom
But oh, forever it was gone-
Lost was its sweet perfume.
But winter passed, and springtime came
And brought another flower
And dearer than all I can name
I hold it to this hour.
I watch it now from day to day
For it is my delight
To watch the hours glide swift away
So radiant and bright.
My precious flower, how dear thou art
My tongue would fail to tell
For of my life thou art a part
Sound by love's magic spell.
--S.C. Watson 1872
It was some time before their first baby was born when Mother had this very unusual experience. (She was not a member of the L.D.S. Church.) Father was making a night run out of London, and she was alone. She had gone to bed and was reading The Book of Mormon, when suddenly a personage stood by her bed. It was a woman, and spoke to Mother, saying she was her husband's mother, and she was very happy that Mother had married her son. She bore her testimony to the truthfulness of The Book of Mormon, and vanished. Mother was frightened-so much so that she didn't finish reading the book at that time. When she described the person to Father he said it was a true description of his mother and he would have given anything if he could have been the one to receive the visit.
Their first child, Annie Kate, was born September 25 1873, at Lambeth, London, England. This was probably their first home. The second child, Evangeline Mary (Eva), was born December 22 1875, at Battersea, Surry, England. Also the first son, Charles Ethelbert, was born at Battersea, Surry, on the 10 of March 1877. The second son, Alfred Alma, was born June 8th 1879, at Lambeth, London. It seems they had moved back to Lambeth for some reason.
Mother's life was quite busy and happy with her little family. She was quite close to her sisters and she had some very dear friends. I can't remember that she talked much about this part of her life.
Then a great change came into her life. Father had always wanted to go to Zion. His sisters and brother had already gone several years before, in 1868. He longed to go, too. His sister, Annie, had died on the great plains of sunstroke, on the way to Zion, July 14, 1868, but he had kept in touch with Rhoda and his brother. Rhoda was married October 10 1868, to Professor Adam C. Smyth, who had been a widower with two small daughters. A.C. was a professor of music. There are quite a few of his compositions among the favorite hymns of our Church.
I do not know just why it was so, but Father came to America first. Mother and the children were to follow later. It was some time in the year 1880 that Father came. He found work in Philadelphia and saved to send her money to come to him.
I remember him telling of one occasion when he had written a letter to her, and was so broke he had no money to buy a stamp to put on the letter. He prayed and asked The Father for help to send his letter, and while walking along the sidewalk, there was money on the walk-enough to buy the stamp he needed.
It was not easy for Mother to leave all her relatives and friends, and to undertake that ocean voyage with her four children ages 7, 5, 3, and 17 months-all alone and in November. The sea was rough, the children sick and frightened, and she herself seven months pregnant. Her oldest child Annie was still unable to walk; from infancy she had been partially paralyzed from polio. To make matters worse, when they got down to the ship, they found that there was no second class, only first class, which they could not afford, and steerage, which was very poor accommodations. The steerage passengers were mostly foreigners. But it was too late to turn back, so they were obliged to come steerage.
I think they were on the boat about eighteen or twenty days, with stormy, rough weather and heavy fog. The foghorns were blowing for days and nights at a time. I have heard Mother say there were times when she wished the boat would go down and take them all together. Of course, she didn't really wish that. But it was different with Mother. She had not yet joined the Church, and there was not the urge to gather to Zion that had been so strong with Father and his family. She would much rather have remained in England. She was coming purely because she was a dutiful wife and she loved her husband, and wanted to be all together.
They arrived at last. Father met them at the boat and they settled for a time in Philadelphia, and there, on the 3 of January 1881, their third son was born. They named him Herbert Edward Chapman Watson. He was a fine, husky fellow-none the worse for his pre-natal voyage. The doctor said he weighed fifteen pounds at birth-also, having been born in America, he might some day be president of the United States.
Their next move was to Utah, which must have been about Summer or early Autumn 1881. They went first to Mendon, Cache County, where Father's sister, Rhoda, was living. They lived for a while with Aunt Rhoda, but not for long. It must have been hard for Aunt Rhoda as well as for Mother, to be crowded in a small house with so many children. They were quite poor, too. This little incident Mother used to tell and laugh about. One day Uncle Adam brought home a little grindstone, a little novelty one just for small grinding. He had paid quite a price for it, and they needed the money for food. So what did Aunt Rhoda do? She trimmed it all up with watercress, and when the family sat down to the table, she served the grindstone on a platter with bread and watercress for supper.
Father found work of some kind, but it was very different from the kind he had been used to. They found a house for rent and were glad to be by themselves again. The winters there were very cold and the house they lived in was draughty and cold. They had to take the axe in the house at night during the cold spells, to chop the ice away from the door so they could get out in the morning. When she changed the baby, sometimes the wet diaper would freeze stiff on the floor before she could take care of it.
Everything was so different from her life in England that Mother was quite homesick at times. I have heard her say that to her the mountains were like prison walls, and she felt she would never be able to get over them and back to her dear England. Of course, she overcame that feeling and learned to love it here, but there were many things that tried her in those first years in Utah.
While in Mendon, Father became active in the Church again. He had been away from it several years. We have a record of his being re-baptized in Mendon on October 5 1881 and ordained an Elder again on October 16th 1881. We also have the record of his being ordained an Elder in 1867, by Charles W. Penrose. This custom of re-baptizing was very common at that time, when a person had been away from the Church or felt a special need of it.
One very sad experience was there while in Mendon. Their baby, little Teddy (as they called him) was watching Father skin a rabbit by the door. It was March 20, 1882, a very pleasant day, when he suddenly became croupy and very ill. Mother took him in her arms and held him for a while. His breathing was very bad and she started to lay him down so that she could do something to relieve him, and again she heard a voice say, "Don't lay him down, you won't have him long!" She snatched him up and held him until he passed away in her arms, only a short time after. The doctor said it was membranous croup.
There were quite a lot of Indians around Mendon at that time and Mother was so afraid of them that one day, when some of them came to the house, she didn't dare to refuse them anything they asked for, and she gave them a lot of things she really needed-dishes, cooking utensils, food, blankets. She was horrified, and they knew it, and they laughed and had a big time at her expense.
On September 13 1882, their third daughter, and sixth child, was born, Frances Rhoda, 'Fannie'. Here I wish to insert two more of Father's poems. The first written when Annie Kate was a baby, and the second just before or after they first moved to Salt Lake City:
When trials come-when troubles press
There is one thing can make them lighter,
And when dark hours my soul oppress,
Thou hast the power to make them brighter.
And it is thine to be given free
It is a look of love from thee
Commingled with sympathy.
Another thing from thee alone
Can help to make this earth a heaven-
Not to accept but as a loan
But as a gift most freely given,
And it is thine to be given free
It is a loving smile from thee,
A smile thou hast alone for me.
Thou hast the power my path to strew
With those choice flowers which cannot perish
And other gems which are not few
Are thine to give and mine to cherish,
And all these gifts thou hast given me
And chosen them as love's sweet fee
And I've accepted all from thee.
Life, Hope, and Faith
What is this life, but a little span,
A struggle, a trial for mortal man
A constant combat with forces great
In which he weakens as life grows late.
With daily toil he must earn his bread,
Then tired and weary he seeks his bed
A little sleep, then with strength anew
The battle of life must still pursue.
And thus he travels through night and day
His mortal life is a weary way,
But much more weary his life would be
If it should cease with mortality.
Hope dwells in his breast to buoy him up,
And help him to drain the bitter cup.
Faith in the future to him will be
The Star that guides to eternity.
-- S.C. Watson - 1883
I do not know how long they stayed in Mendon after Fannie was born, but some time after, within a year, they moved to Salt Lake City, and rented a house on First North, between Fifth and Sixth West. It was in the Sixteenth Ward. Here they lived for about five years. Father got work with the railroad. Mother made some very dear friends, and things were more normal for both of them.
Now here is where I come into the picture. On January 6 1885, I was born-the fourth and last daughter. They named me Malinda Helen, I was number seven (six living children).
The house was not large, four small rooms and a summer shanty, but Mother had the gift of making any house a home. There was love and order there. She was very neat with her home as well as with her person. She would do her week's washing, scrubbing everything on the washboard, and never get a splash of water on the floor or on her dress or apron. She had no conveniences as we have today-everything had to be done the hard way. She had no vacuum cleaner, washing machine, electric iron, refrigerator, electric stove or lights; no power but "elbow grease", but she managed very well until, when I was one year old, she almost lost her life with a miscarriage. She was near gone, but managed to pull through.
Then, just sixteen months later, on May 30 1887, she gave birth to twins boys. She really had her hands and her arms full now. They were nice, healthy boys. I think they weighed almost eight pounds each. They named them William Ether, and Walter Ammon. She was so proud of her boys and gave them every care, but she had trouble feeding them. There were very few prepared baby foods to be had, and no pasteurization or refrigeration and the sanitation was poor all over the city-everywhere, in fact.
When the twins were about fifteen months old, they were both stricken with typhoid fever and pneumonia combined. What a terrible time that was for Mother, and for Father, too. Mother said that for weeks she never had her clothes off, except long enough to change for clean ones, and that she had fallen asleep while walking around the room.
Little Walter, although he seemed the stronger of the two and was not as thin as Willie, passed away on the 18 of October 1888. Willie was so near a skeleton that his backbone and elbow bone protruded through his skin and they had to carry him around on a pillow for weeks. When Walter died, it seemed so impossible that Willie could pull through that they hesitated to bury him until they could be buried together.
It was while they were at the cemetery with Walter, and Mother sat holding Willie, that she again heard a voice saying, "Wrap him in coal oil cloths!" She got up and did it right away, and from that time he began to improve, and he lived and grew to manhood, but the sickness had left him with a weak heart, and he was never well. She was always very watchful of him, and anxious about him. He outlived Mother. He never married and was at home with her as long as she lived. I think he was a great comfort to her.
Soon after Walter's death, Father bought one-half acre of land over the Jordan River, and had a house built on it. They called it, "Camp's Lane" then, but it was Redwood Road, between Fourth and Fifth North, in what is Center Ward now , but at that time it was a part of Brighton Ward, Center Ward being organized a short time after.
The house was frame, just four rooms-no closets, halls, bath, or pantry-just four rooms, and not finished-just building paper tacked on to the studding to separate the rooms. It was several years before it was properly plastered, but it was a home of our own, and a happy family lived there.
It was a fine neighborhood of friendly people and we all made dear friends and playmates. Father had a vegetable garden in the back and some lovely flowers in the front. He planted trees around the house. They grew very fast and soon gave us shade.
We had to carry our drinking water. In fact, all the water we used for the house had to be carried from the neighbor's flowing well. It was not far-maybe about as far as across the streets of Salt Lake, but the well ran slowly and I can remember standing there, waiting for the bucket to fill, in the cold and in the heat, wishing it would hurry. But that was one of our chores-mine and Fannie's, getting in the coal and kindling was another, besides dishes, etc.
Living out there made it necessary that we have a horse and rig of some kind so that Father could get back and forth to work. His work was at the O.S.L. Depot, right where the North Temple Viaduct now stands. Some one had to take him there early in the morning and go and fetch him home in the evening. His days were long and hard. He worked from 6:00 A.M. until 5:00 P.M. every day of the year except one, which was usually New Year's Day. This was also Mother's birthday and we always kept that as a special family day. I don't think his working hours had always been that bad, but that is how he worked as I remember.
When I think of him now-how he worked so hard for us in the cold and in the heat-with never a Sunday to rest and worship, my heart feels heavy, and I wonder if we appreciated him half enough. (I'm sure we didn't) I cannot remember ever hearing Father complain at his lot, or deny us anything he could get for us. He was naturally cheerful, very affectionate and kind, and good.
On August 5 1891, Father's only brother (Uncle Ted) was accidentally killed while prospecting in the mountains. His team took fright and ran away. The wagon overturned on him. I think his neck was broken. He left a wife, Clara Peacock Watson, a son, Edward Hamilton, and a daughter, Estella. This was a great sorrow to Father.
Then in August 1891, Mother was baptized into the Church, and in the same month, August 1891, Father and Mother went to the Manti Temple and were endowed and sealed for all eternity. That was a happy day for Father. He had waited long for that day that Mother would become a member of the Church and go with him into the Temple.
One of the things about Father that stands out in my memory was his remarkable ability at spelling and defining words. If Father was on hand, we never needed to go the dictionary to learn the meaning of a word, or how to spell it. He never missed, and he had a talent for composition that was remarkable, too, when we realized that his school days were all over at age fourteen.
Father was very proud of his boys, Charlie and Alf, when they were youngsters, because of their fine voices. He used to have them sing for him, and for company, quite often. They both had exceptionally fine voices all their lives, until they grew old.
Well, the years passed on, as years will. We were quite happy as I remember. I know there was very little quarrelling among the children, and I only remember one occasion in all my life that I ever heard any serious disagreement between Father and Mother, and that was of short duration.
One thing more than anything else Mother hated was debt, and that came to plague her too, when the 1893 depression came. Father was laid off work and they had to go in debt for groceries. Father had changed jobs previous to this time, thinking to better himself, and worked for quite a while on what was known as the John W. Young project. I think it was building a railroad bed. But the project failed, the company went bankrupt, and Father never did get his pay, which amounted to several hundred dollars. This, of course, put them way behind and I think was one of Mother's greatest trials-debt.
Charlie and Alf left school at this point and went to work. Charlie got work at the Z.C.M.I. shoe factory. I remember his responsibility was to make the monthly payment on the home. Alf went to work for the grocer to whom we were indebted to pay off the debt. He had one dollar a week for his own, the rest, in time, paid off the debt, but wages were so small, it took a long time. I don't remember what their wages were but I do remember that Father's wages were between $55 and $60 a month at that time. Eva also got a job at the Z.C.M.I. overall factory. Even Annie did washing for a neighbor and was most generous with her small earning.
Everyone did their part, I can say the same for Mother. I don't ever remember hearing her complain or grumble over what she had or did not have. She too, was very self-sacrificing. She had very little for herself. Her one thought and effort was for her family. She was a very, very good manager and kept her family well fed and clean, even though sometimes the budget was pretty hard to balance. We never went hungry, although I do remember eating bread with lard spread on it for butter and sprinkled with salt and pepper. It tasted good too.
One night in the year 1892, Mother had a dream. She dreamed her sister, Matilda, who had died (May of 1874) several years before, came to her with a baby in her arms, and told her she had brought a baby for her to take care of. Within a few days there came a letter edged in black to say that another sister, Mary Ann (Polly) had died, leaving a baby girl, and several other children. Mother felt that this was the baby she had dreamed of and she wrote to ask them if they would let her have the baby to take care of. But the child's father (George Henry Brockway) was still living and he could not give her up.
About a year later, (February 13 1894) however, he died, too. So Mother wrote again and asked for the baby. This time the baby's older sister, Matilda Kate, brought her to Mother. When they arrived, and Father and Mother met them at the station, Mother said the baby was just as she had seen her in her dream, even the clothes she was wearing. She was very tiny for her age, and very pretty and cute. We all adored her, and from that time she was just another dear little sister. We called her Dolly. She was christened Evelyn Hilda Brockway. There was a twin sister, but she died at birth. Dolly was a sweet little singer. Some of our friends called her "the little canary bird". 'Aunt' Kate, who brought Dolly over from England, stayed in America and later married here. While she was still quite young, she took pneumonia and died (February 19 1904).
Mother was active in the Relief Society of Center Ward. She was a block teacher and at that time, the block teachers used to gather donations from the homes they visited and bring them to the home of the president. I can remember seeing them come back from their district with their arms full of groceries and or dry goods that had been donated by the families on their route.
Father worked very hard and long through these years. In the spring of 1898 his health began to break, and as the boys were growing to young manhood, he was determined that they shouldn't have to slave as he was doing, all their lives. He was going to get out on a farm or something, and make a better life for them.
I remember at one time they almost decided on a place up near Farmington, but it fell through-I don't know why. Anyway, Father had a friend, Brother Manly Brown, who had been his companion on his block teaching assignments. Brother Brown had moved to Alberta, Canada. He wrote to Father, giving glowing accounts of the country up there. Father talked it over with the boys and they decided to make the break and move to Canada. This was in the spring of 1898. In May of 1898, Father and Mother took us (their children) to the Salt Lake temple, so we were sealed to them before we made the move to Canada. That was really an exciting time, filled with mixed feelings of hope and misgivings. It didn't seem to take them very long to get going after their minds were made up, for Father quit his job, they sold the home, bought a team of horses and a covered wagon. They loaded all the things they could possibly take into the wagon-it was three beds high-and on the first of June, Alf and Charlie left with the outfit. They also took along our little horse and buggy and old Fan, our big St. Bernard dog. Father was able to get passes for the rest of us on the railroad as far as Dillon, Montana. That was where the boys were to meet us on the set date of June 16.
Just how we managed in the two weeks we waited, I can't remember, for the stove and table and chairs and one of the beds, and most of the dishes, bedding, etc. had gone in the wagon. But we managed somehow, and so on June 15 1898, we said our good-byes to friends and neighbors, and to our dear sister Eva, for she had been married in April to Willis Rudy, of North Point, and would not be going with us, much to our sorrow. It was the first break in our family, and Eva had always been such a help to Mother and such a wonderful big sister to us younger children! A big crowd of friends and neighbors were at the station to see us off. We left in the evening and arrived in Dillon Montana the next day about noon.
Sure enough, Charlie was there with the wagon to meet us. Mother cried when she looked at Charlie at the station-Charlie who had always been so fastidious and particular with his grooming and his eating habits. (I can remember when he would pick up his drinking glass and look through it, and hold his plate up and sight along it to look for a smear, and if he found one he'd say, "Ma, why don't you make those kids wash the dishes clean?) Well, now it was all gone-his face was burned and tanned almost black. His eyes were red with the sun's rays and his lips were cracked and bleeding.
It was a big relief that he meet us at the station, for while packing and moving, Mother had hurt her back and she had suffered terribly with it, especially on the train. Trains didn't run smoothly then like they do now. They jerked and jammed until you almost fell off the seat sometimes when they would hook another car or take one off. I can see her now as she tried to ease the jar on her back. She couldn't relax at all, and they had a hard time getting her off the train and into the wagon and out of it again.
Alf had stayed at the camp they had made, about two miles out of Dillon. They had the tent pitched in a little nook by the side of the road, and that was home. We were all so glad to see the boys and hear their experiences. Charlie had a red handkerchief around his neck, and he laughed at the dust that flew into the frying pan when they were cooking the supper, and remarked, "We all have to eat over a pack of dirt before we die, so what's the difference?" Alf was also burned and blistered almost beyond recognition.
Mother was in so much misery that we put her to bed as soon as we could, and there she stayed, unable to move for two weeks. It was awful for her. She couldn't even raise her hands to drive the big horseflies away or to feed herself. It was hot, and we were all so anxious to be on our way. We didn't have much money and it was going fast, but she couldn't be moved, so we had to wait. I think the boys got a few days work in the hay fields. A kind farmer gave us milk every day, and we managed until Mother's back began to get better. The weather was good, so that helped, and just as soon as she could move around a little, Mother insisted that we go on. She and Father rode in the buggy, the rest of us in the wagon. It was a regular prairie schooner, high and narrow, and the roads were just plain dirt roads, with a big hump in the middle and a rut on each side where the horses walked and wagon wheels followed. They were no roads for a buggy and a single horse; either the wheel on one side or the horse had to go on the center bump. Mother was nervous about riding, but in a spite of it all, her back steadily improved as we traveled along, making about 25 or 30 miles a day.
We had only gone about two days' journey when we overtook a company of very nice people who were also Canada bound. There were several wagons in the company-two families, consisting of Brother and Sister Charles Terry, and Brother and Sister Isaac Allred with their families, several of them grown young people and teenagers. Then there were Jim and Nels Hanson, two young men who were on their own, but traveling with the others. They were all from Sanpete, all very friendly and cheerful. That really made the rest of the journey a pleasure trip to us young folks especially. We traveled right along with them and when we camped at night, some of the boys had brought their musical instruments along and we would sit around a campfire and sing and tell stories and listen to their music until time to go to bed. It was about two weeks from the time we left Dillon until we arrived at Cardston, Alberta, Canada.
We made our first camp on Lee's Creek on the edge of Cardston in a grove on trees. The Cardston people were very friendly. We stayed there for a few days while the men folks looked around for a good place to settle. They decided on Mountain View, a small settlement about 18 miles west of Cardston, as there were a few homesteads up there left to be taken.
Father, Charlie and Alf found three homesteads, or quarter sections, close together and entered upon them. Each quarter section consisted of 160 acres of land. Of course, they were not the choice ones, but they were the only ones left. They were about three miles northeast of Mountain View. They were very hilly-just one big hill after another, with a lake here and there, and an abundance of wild prairie grass and wild flowers everywhere.
The homesteads were free but there had to be an entry fee of, I think, $20 each-that was sixty dollars. Mother had heard before leaving Salt Lake that some of the people up there were living in houses with dirt floors. She couldn't think of that, so she had managed to keep back a few dollars that no one else knew about, to make sure there was money for a floor for her home, but she had to dig it out for the entry fees, since our layover at Dillon had cost more than expected and funds were getting very low. But she got the assurance from Father and the boys that there would be a floor in her house when it was built.
Well, now we were at the end of our journey-all well and hearty. We were broke-but out of debt, and I have heard Mother say that that was her greatest comfort-to know there was no debt hanging over their heads. She could put up with being poor and be happy, if we could keep out of debt.
We went up to Mountain View, and right away, a kind friend offered us a house to live in until we could build one of our own. The friend was Brother Joseph Gold, a brother of Mickey's grandfather. He had built for himself a larger house and this one was empty. It was only one large room with one window and a dirt roof. It was built of logs, and we were so glad to move into it. It was a home! They pitched the tent just outside the door, and unloaded all the stuff they couldn't get into the house, into the tent, and there we spent the first winter. The boys brought wood from the nearby mountains for fuel and we were snug and warm. Brother Gold also rented two rooms of his home to the Terry family, so we were all together and really had some happy times that winter.
Brother Gold also allowed us to help get up his potatoes and let us have a supply of winter potatoes for helping him. What a wonderful crop it was! I helped pick them up. They were a sight to see, and such a big patch. He must have been inspired when he planted so many. Terry's had all they needed too. He also let the boys help put up his hay and furnished us with milk and some other vegetables. He was very kind.
The only kind of flour we could get was some from a gristmill at Cardston. I guess it was made of frozen wheat. They called the bread that was baked from it "black bread," but was it ever good! And did it stick to the ribs! We were all so hungry and everything tasted so good, I went from a skinny 96 pounds to 122 pounds in a year.
Fannie had remained in Cardston when we moved on to Mountain View. She had taken a job in the home of William Wood to help for a few weeks, as a new baby was expected in their home, and they had come to our camp to see if they could find someone to help. It was only eighteen miles away, but with team and wagon that was like being 180 miles away today with automobile travel. With no telephones and only a semi-weekly mail, she was a long way from home. The few weeks lengthened into months and it was late in November before she came home to Mountain View. We were all so glad to have her home again.
That first Christmas in Canada I can well remember: We were all at home. Nothing was bought that we couldn't pay for, so it wasn't much in the way of gifts and giving. I remember I was given a little green paper covered autograph album, with gold trimming, and I was very happy with it. I think Will and Dolly received some little toy, and that was about the size of the giving. Mother always managed a fine Christmas dinner with her wonderful old English pudding and mince pie. We were all well and quite happy. There was a nice celebration in the ward, which we attended, and as we were all together, it was a very happy day.
That first winter passed without incident. Brother Terry and Brother Jordan had purchased a sawmill up in the big timbers above Mountain View, and they needed a cook. Charlie was working up there, so Fannie and I took the job of cooking for their men. Their crew was from nine to as many as twenty-two men, at times. We earned $3.00 a week between us. But I remember buying (for ourselves) each, a pair of overshoes and a few aprons. The rest all went to help buy lumber and shingles for our house. Charlie's work bought lumber, too. Alf went into the mountains and brought out the logs during that winter, and by spring, much of the needed material for our home was on hand. The boys and Father went every day, and with the help of some good neighbors, built our home so that by June we were able to move into it. The house was one large room, about 20' by 14', I believe, with a south facing. There was a door, and a double window on the south, and two windows on the north. The logs were whitewashed on the inside, and there was a shingled roof, and a real floor of wood. Father had a little strip of land plowed up and planted a garden close to the house. We got our water from a little spring just a few rods from the house. This, however, dried up later in the year so we had to dig a well, which didn't prove very satisfactory. It was curbed up with lumber and it tasted of the wood. There was plenty of water for the animals in the lakes about, but it was not suitable for any household purposes-chock full of wigglers and bugs. There was quite a water problem on the ranch for the first several years. Later, Alf had a well drilled and with the help of a windmill, most of the time, the problem was solved. But before that time, we melted snow in winter or caught the rain for washing, etc. It would take all one day to melt enough snow to wash with on the following day. For other household needs we hauled water from a spring one-half mile over the hills on a go-devil (a barrel fastened on runners made of wood, with a horse to pull it, and a tub turned over the top to keep the water from all splashing out.) That was often my job, too.
The house was situated in a picturesque little dell with hills all around it, an abundance of grass and wild flowers everywhere, and at that time of the year there were wild strawberries almost everywhere you might look. They were tiny, but so full of flavor, and delicious! I've never tasted cultivated strawberries that could compare. We named the homestead "Strawberry Dell".
But, oh, those first years were real pioneering! We were settled at last in a home of our own. We had nothing but the team and wagon, one extra horse, and our little buggy horse Doll, and old Fan our big St. Bernard dog. That was the amount of our worldly possessions. There was so much to buy. The homesteads all had to be fenced. There had to be machinery (plow, harrow, mowing machine, rake, hay rack, disking machine, all these) before we could begin to live.
Our only stove was a little black cook stove, and with only wood to burn, it kept one person busy shoving in the wood to keep us warm on those cold winter days. I remember trying to scrub the floors during those cold snaps, when the water would freeze on the floor before I could wipe it up. The bread would freeze solid in the cupboard, and we would go to bed at night, leaving a fire in the stove, but by morning the teakettle would be full of solid ice, still on the stove. I sometimes wonder now, with all the comforts of our homes, how we ever got through those first years without freezing to death, but we kept well, and I can't remember ever being unhappy about it. We were never without something to eat, although there were times that it wasn't very choice tid-bits. Our good neighbor let us have a cow to milk, so we had milk, but it was a range cow. She didn't give much milk-not enough to make butter. We went without butter all one winter. We hadn't heard of margarine, or canned or powdered milk at that time.
Father was failing. His health was broken before we left Salt Lake, and there was not much he could do. I think he suffered more than any of us for the lack of good food. He had always had meat in his diet, and up there it was impossible to get it. We were eighteen miles from a butcher shop-a day's journey with a team and wagon. The ranchers killed their own beef or pigs or chickens, as they needed them, but we had none so we went without that first year or two.
Later, we managed to put a floor on the ceiling joists and made a little stairway up to it so we had room for two bedrooms upstairs. We could only stand up in the middle, and the beds had to be on the floor, but it was a big improvement and it was warmer up there. They also partitioned off a small bedroom on the east of the house and made a small entry hall to the stairway.
After a while, too, we got a few chickens and some pigs and a few head of cattle, but it took time and work and money-and money was scarce. There was none to spare for fine clothes or extras of any kind.
But through it all there was love and cooperation in our home. Charlie had an auto-harp, harmonicas, and an accordion. He could play quite well, and we had singing. Charlie, Alf, Fannie and I, used to make a quartette, we enjoyed singing together. Annie and Dolly joined in too. Then sometimes we would work on quilt blocks or crocheting while one member read from an interesting book. So the long winter evenings were passed.
Father's health continued to fail. He became very weak and suffered a slight stroke, which affected his speech and also made it difficult for him to use his right to write. He could get around and managed to have a fine garden. The soil up there was wonderful rich black loam. Such peas, cabbage, cauliflower, potatoes and rutabagas! We could raise all the best ever-with no bugs or worms or pests at all for the first few years, and they grew so big and tasted so good. The garden was Father's pride and joy!
Some time in the second year after we arrived in Canada, Brother Will had a very serious illness-inflammatory rheumatism. He lay at death's door for several days. In fact, we all thought he had passed away at one time, but he revived, and when he could talk, he told us of the most beautiful place he had seen; that he had seen his twin brother, and a little friend who had been drowned in the Jordan River a few months after we left Salt Lake. He recovered finally, and shortly after, Mother was stricken with the same disease. She was very ill for quite a while and suffered untold pain. She was very patient through it all. There were no pain killing tablets or "shots" to be had at that time. They just had to endure it. Fannie was her special nurse and did everything she could to relieve her. She, too, recovered finally, for which we were very thankful to our Father in Heaven.
Then in the spring of 1901, on the 4 day of May, Father was taken in death. He had been up and around as usual all day, and at evening, he was taken with severe cramps or pains in his stomach. They grew worse all night and in the morning we sent for the elders to administer to him. Under their hands, his pain all left him, but he went into a coma soon after, and by noon that day he was gone to his reward. I know it was a blessed one for him. He was loving, kind and full of faith, unselfish and uncomplaining-just another unsung hero. He was only 57 years old when he died, but he was worn out and ill, and I am sure it was a happy release for him.
Because there were no facilities for preserving a body at that time, and the weather was warm, we had to bury him the very next day-so in a few hours, it was all over. I am sure it was a great shock to Mother, but true to her nature, she was calm and serene through it all, and she carried on in the home in a wonderful way as head of the house. The boys and girls rallied around her and we continued with our family devotion and duties, as though he were there. Life went on as usual, and time passed on. There seems little to tell of special interest now. Mother seldom left the ranch. She dreaded to ride in the wagon. It shook her back and made her head ache. She could not be persuaded to go more than two or three times a year.
One event that cannot be passed by was the hailstorm. It happened some time in July of the year Father passed away. The garden he had planted was looking beautiful. The boys, Alf and Will were in the hay field about half a mile from the house. Charlie and I were on a hay contract job about seven or eight miles west of home. I was cooking for the men. We saw an extra black cloud hanging over the Watson hills, with thunder and lightening, and we knew they were getting a heavy storm, but we couldn't know how heavy! This was on Tuesday, and not until we were going home on Saturday evening did we know what had happened. As soon as we got near home, Charlie said, "What on earth has happened here?" It looked like a thousand head of cattle had been grazing on the hills. There wasn't a spear of grass-just bare hills. When we reached home, it was the same-no grass, no garden-everything bare. The windows on the north of the house were completely gone. The shingles were split and the logs of the house looked like someone had been going over them with a sledgehammer, they were so badly beaten. The green quaking asp poles on the pasture gate were peeled completely of their bark. Everything looked so funny! The boys, Alf and Will, barely escaped by turning the horses loose with the harness on and holding a heavy camp quilt over their heads. Mother declared as they huddled in the little hallway, to keep out of the way of flying glass and hailstones, (which were flying across the living room) that if she ever lived to see this storm through, she would leave Canada right away (she never did). Hailstones, not round, but sharp like chunks of ice, were a foot deep on the ground, and it was dark at four o'clock in the afternoon. Three days later, they found, buried in the haystack, a hailstone that measured the size of a regular teacup.
From here on, it is hard to write in detail, the story of Mother's life. Each day brought its special work and interests, its joys and sorrows. The seasons came and went and the years flew by. One by one the children married and left the home.
The first to leave was Fannie. She was married in October of 1901, to William J. Worth Kilgrow. Mother always grieved when the children were getting married. She loved to have them with her, but of course, she knew it was the natural life for them, and she was sensible about it. Charlie was next. He married Amanda Irene Cox, on January 7 of 1903 in the Manti temple, a lovely girl from Fairview, Utah. Next to be married was Annie. She married Arthur Laycock on May 5 of 1903.
A few years passed now. Alf, Will, Dolly and I were still single and at home. Charlie and Irene lived nearby-just over the hill on Charlie's homestead, so we saw them often. Fannie and Annie lived for a while in Raymond, about 60 miles away. Soon the grandchildren were arriving. The first was a little son to Charlie and Irene, Charles Walter, and what a joy he brought to all for us. I know Mother enjoyed him so much! He was such a lovely child. He was born November 5th 1903. Fannie had a lovely son, Everett Alfred, born March 5th 1904. Annie had a lovely daughter, Alice Malinda, born February 14th 1904. They all brought new interest into our home. Of course, Walter was near and we saw so much of him, with only an occasional visit from the others, and they were all so lovely, and other children followed fast. Mother managed to leave home and go to the girls once in a while, when she was needed.
I must not forget to mention one other special event that happened in 1903. One day she received a letter from her sister in England, saying that they had decided to come to Canada, and would be on their way in a week or so. They were a family of seven: (Robert William Nelson) Uncle Bob, Aunt Lin, Tot, Bill, Bert, Violet, and Tom. Imagine Mother's consternation! Of course, she would love to see them, but what would we do with them? Well, the boys got busy and built two small rooms on one end of the house-a kitchen and one bedroom. In late May they arrived, in the heaviest snowstorm I ever have seen. Charlie went to Spring Coulee, the nearest railway station (about thirty miles away) in the covered wagon to bring them on. They had to stay there a week until the roads could be traveled. There must have been five feet of snow, and it fell almost all in one night. I remember I was working at the home of Bishop Stewart at the time in Mountain View, and my bedroom was upstairs and when I looked out of the window in the morning, I could almost touch the snow that had drifted up by the house. I was homesick! I was to have gone home that day, and I thought the relatives had already arrived and Mother would need me, so Bishop Stewart took me home. We went on some skies he had made for his boys out of barrel staves. They worked fine, and I didn't fall down once, until I got within sight of the house. He had several spills. That was my first and last attempt at skiing. We went right over fences without even seeing them in some places.
Well, the folks hadn't arrived after all, but I was glad to be home anyway. I think now, what a welcome that must have been to our English relatives. They were good sports and very uncomplaining. Uncle Bob left after a few weeks and went to Regina with the older boys to work at his trade (cabinet maker). Aunt Lin and the girls and Tom stayed for a year with us. Then Uncle Bob came and took them all to Summerland, British Columbia, where they made their home.
After Aunt Lin's family left, the ranch seemed dead, indeed. I'll never forget the feeling of loneliness for the first few days. It was like a calm after a storm (too much calm) and it was stifling. That soon passed and we got back to normal living. Sometimes I wonder now how we managed to keep busy, with so little to do, and so much time. Of course, in the summer time there was always plenty to do on the place. I know I helped with the garden, and with the milking and separating (we now had quite a herd of milk cows) and I made cheese for several summers-a 153 or 20# cheese about three times a week. I learned that art from Irene. She learned cheese making at the A.C. (Agricultural College) in Logan, and was quite proficient. We traded much of it for groceries and other necessities at the store in Mountain View.
I drove a team on the hay rake for several haying seasons, mostly on our own property, and when the boys put up the neighbor's hay by contract.
There were also the ward activities. They were a nice change and interesting for the boys, Dolly and I. Mother did not enjoy them as much as we did, and this is her story. As I have said before, Mother seldom left the ranch, and she took no part in the outside work. Her back would not stand for heavy work, but she managed the planning and cooking of the meals and kept the house; and so the years passed by.
In May 1907, Charlie and Irene moved back to Utah. They had three children when they left Canada. Walter, age 3, Elvira, age 19 months, and Ida age 3 months. How we missed them! Great sorrow came to them the following winter when they lost in death two of their three children-Walter and Ida with a serious epidemic of measles.
On December 22 of 1908, Alf was married to Mary (May) Wilson, a girl from Leavitt, and he brought her home to live at the ranch. May was a lovely girl-even in disposition, and a real addition to the family. Folks say she was more like Mother than any of her own girls. It must have been quite an adjustment for both Mother and May to make living together (as they did for about three years) so pleasant. Alf built them a separate home, but even then it was built right in the same yard. I do not remember ever seeing the least sign of disagreement between them, and I don't think there ever was. I was so glad that May was there with Mother-and she had the children, as they came along, to give her comfort and love, and things to do for them, for I was away from home most of the time now. I spent two winters in Utah, one just visiting with sister, Eva, and one year at school at the B.Y.U. Charlie and Irene were living in Provo then and I lived with them, which was very convenient and pleasant for me.
Annie and Arthur moved back to Mountain View after a year or two away, so they were near to Mother. Dolly married Peter Neilson, and she lived within visiting distance just west of the town and Mother was able to go out a little more after they were able to buy a surrey to ride in instead of the lumber wagon. It was easier on her back and I am sure that made things more pleasant for her.
Mother had one nice trip to Utah in 1912. Eva and Charlie and families were here (in Utah) then and I know she enjoyed that visit with them. Fannie and Worth moved back to Utah in 1914 with their six children. That was hard for Mother to have them go so far away, but she hoped it would be better for them as they had not been able to get on very well up there. Previous to this time, I had been married to James S. Parker, and in March 1915, it was my turn to say good-bye and move to Utah. It was hard to leave the dear old home and those I loved so much, but I did have high hopes of a visit from Mother soon. That, however, never did materialize. It was the last time I ever saw her, although she lived for nearly six years more.
I have always been so thankful that she had Alf and May and Will and the children with her, and she was never alone and was tenderly cared for.
On the 4th day of January 1921, Mother left this mortal life. She had just passed her 73rd birthday on the 1st. She had enjoyed good health most of her life and was able to keep her home and take care of her own and Will's needs right up to within a week of her passing. She was tenderly cared for during her illness. The doctor said it was pleurisy. She was always very brave and patient in suffering, and so she was through this last illness.
She was a wonderful mother and I am sure her reward will be wonderful, too. Just a few days before her illness began, Aunt Clara had sent her a most beautiful set of temple clothes. She was so delighted with them and was writing a letter to thank her for them when she took the chill that was the beginning of the end. They gave her a beautiful burial-the best that could be had-and she was buried beside Father in the little cemetery at Mountain View, there to await the glorious morning of resurrection of the just and good.
Re-typed and edited by Stuart Benjamin Quist (a grandson of Charles and Irene) in August 2001 from an old faded mimeograph copy. Some paragraphs were moved to be in closer chronological order. Some more accurate dates and ages were inserted as discovered by cross-referencing with other records.
Family 1: Kezia Chapman, b. 1 Jan 1848 in Kedington, Suffolk County, England
- Married: 4 Sep 1872 in St. Phillip's Church, Kennington, London, England 6 Mar 2006
- Annie Kate Watson, b. 25 Sep 1873 in Lambeth, London, England
- Charles Ethelbert Watson, b. 10 Mar 1877 in London, Battersea Surrey, England
- Malinda Helen "Linnie" Watson, b. 6 Jan 1885 in Salt Lake City, Salt Lake, Utah, United States
Please send corrections, additions or comments to Carl T Cox
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