Amanuensis Monday--Elsie Crocker’s Manuscript, Part 7: Boise, Idaho

To read this project from the beginning, click here.

This installment of Elsie’s manuscript discusses just a few of the experiences of the Underwood family during their time in Boise, Idaho.

Three of kids, Walter, William and I, always went to Sunday school, when we lived in Boise, Idaho. The church was just a couple blocks from our house.

It was Christmas time, we were having a program. Mother wasn’t feeling well so we kids went by ourselves. I was in the program. The teacher had us take a pair of white stockings to the church. When we got to the church she had me put these white stockings over my shoes. Just above the toe she placed a huge bow of sparkling tinsel. My part must have been a angel to have had tinsel. When the program was over we got a red mesh stocking of candy and nuts. However the stocking wasn’t the importand thing. It was this tinsel It was the first I had ever seen, I loved it so. I had to get home to show my mom. I didn’t even wait for my brothers. I ran as fast as I could, watching the tinsel sparkleing on my feet. The street lights sparkle and glisten even more. I watched my feet all the way home. Maybe this is why I love glittering things today.

I was just five when this happened.

This was the Christmas Santa brought my brothers a pair of scissors. One day while my mother was at the grocery store about two blocks away.

My brothers cut my mothers curtains and can you believe is, they cut off my eyebrows. Oh. What have you done now. She was mad!!!! I can’t leave you for a minute”

She knew the boys had put each other up to it. She said she couldn’t look at me, and that I would have to stay in the house so no one could see me. I felt bad I was a fraid she never loved me anymore.

In Boise Walter was very ill. Wasn’t getting any better, getting worse all the time. Dad sent for Dr. Fremstead, who came right away. (He had to come from Burley.) He took one look at Walter and ordered a prescription for him He was so ill he walked when necessary by using two chairs. One in front of the other, until he got to where he was going. Usually to the bathroom.

Walter was carrying his head to one side, which scared my mom. He started to show right away. He finally used his neck to hold his head straighter. It wasn’t long before he went back to school. We were happy to have him well.

The story of Elsie and her tinsel is another one of my favorites because it fit her personality so well. She seemed so sparkling herself that it was only fitting that she should love glittering things. As an example of her sparkling personality: I remember visiting her when she was in her 80s and living in a retirement manor. She had several rose bushes in the community garden, and early in the morning she would go down and cut a certain number of roses. Then she would put each in a small vase and leave one outside the door of every one of her neighbors.

Regarding the story of the scissors, I have often wondered about the logistics of a brother cutting off his sister’s eyebrows. Her hair, maybe, but her eyebrows? Just try to picture it.

To continue with the next installment of Elsie's manuscript, click here. 

Amanuensis Monday--Elsie Crocker’s Manuscript, Part 5: Burley, Idaho

To read this project from the beginning, click here.

Oops, I'm a little late. I meant to post this up yesterday, but didn't quite get around to it. So welcome to Amanuensis Tuesday.

In this instalment of Elsie’s manuscript, we find the Underwood family again on the move. They have been moving consistently down the Snake River, and this time is no exception. Burley is the next major town downriver.

So much for Raft River Dad and Mother had left and moved to Burley, Idaho. Everything was a lot different in a large city. We now could have a doctor, up to now Mother was our doctor. Dad became deputy marshal in Burley. Dr. Fremstead was our doctor, he also owned the drugstore. Dad and Doc. Fremstead became very good friends.

Here Mother got her first real stove. It was a Home Comfort. If you can fall in love with a stove, I’m sure Mother did this one. The top of the stove was real large, you could cook your pancakes on one end, it was that flat. and smooth. It had a reservior on one side. Now our bath water was heated without being put on the top of the stove. In a wash boiler. The boiler was hard to lift off. Now all we had to do is dip the hot water out of the reservior to the tub. We had to refill reservior but it was done by big bucket fulls. We now had hot water anytime for washing hands and faces without heating the kettle. Or using mostly cold water.

The stove came withe several large kettles and a huge tea kettle. The all including the reservior was all blue and white heavy enamel.

We also got some new bread pans, which would hold six loaves of bread. She usually had enough dough left to make a round loaf. Some of the time this bread would come out of the oven as we came home from school. This loaf she let us have was mostly crust, being round, made in a pie pan. With freshly churned butter it was um’um. We never wasted much time in getting home on baking day.

Mother now had a big oven to bake her bread and a warm place to help it raise. Also a warming oven to keep things warm while cooking the remaining dinner.

She would mix her bread at night, cover it with a cloth, them place it on the warm reservior to raise doing the night. The next morning it would have risen to the top of the pan, ready to make into loaves.

One night the dough came over the top and a big ball of it fell into our hired man’s boot, which he was drying back of the kitchen range. Dad was jealous he thought Mom had done it on purpose. Poor Mom she didn’t know anything about it. Dad teased her about it. “Just like the dough in Lenard’s boot.”

Us kids thought it funny.

Mother had another baby girl (Vida) She only lived a few months. The Fremsteads took care of her but she passed away. We all came doun with “typhoid fever” except Dad and my oldest brother Walter. (Drinking water was the cause.) Mom always thought she could have saved Vida.

Our baths were in a wash tub every Saturday night, with a spit bath inbetween. Our face cloths as they were called, made out of old underwear or old towels. We were lucky to have soap only laundry soap. Toothpaste was salt or baking soda.

One day when I was real small, Mom had me standing on the oven door washing my hands and face. She left to get a towel to dry me. I got hold of the soap. My hands were small and wet and the soap quite soft, from the heat of the stove. The soap slipped out of my hands, on to th hot stove top. I tried to grab it, before Mother got back but every time I got the soap in my hands it would slip away again, going across the hot stove. I burn the middle of my hands very bad. Not living near a doctor Mother used lard on them. Oh, how they hurt. I sat for days with my hands on the cold window panes. I had learned my lesson, the hard way.

Sometimes Dad would like to take me to the prison with him. It usually at lunch time. Dad always said the prisoners liked seeing me. They would ask me who I was? I would tell them I was my daddy’s little lumman. Dad was proud when I told people I’m my daddy’s little lumman”. Even when I was growing, my dad would ask if I was Daddy’s little lumman”

Being English, I couldn’t pronounce the letter “W” I still had my front tooth out. I must have looked funny.

When it was snowing and Dad was marshal, walking his beat. People used to say they could see which way h’d gone, by the size of his foot prints. He was a large man and he had a large foot, size twelve. He’d leave foot prints in the snow.

I have never understood what being English would have to do with Elsie’s childhood inability to pronounce the letter “W,” but I have noticed that within our family a great number of things are ascribed to being English.

Speaking of pronunciation, I used to mispronounce poor little Vida’s name. To me, it looked like it should be pronounced “Vee-da.” Elsie corrected me quickly. The correct pronunciation is with a long “i” sound, as “Vie-da.”

To continue with the next installment of Elsie's manuscript, click here. 

Amanuensis Monday--Elsie Crocker’s Manuscript, Part 4: Raft River, Idaho

To read this project from the beginning, click here. 

This time around, Elsie tells about when her parents, Walter and Flora Underwood, left the home of their cousins, the Hawkes family. They proceeded to Raft River, stopping for a while in American Falls.

Dad was getting itchy feet again, wanting to make a home for his family, and be indepent. He felt they shouldn’t over stay their welcome. Little Walter couldn’t manage the long outside stairs, to play in the yard. Someone had to be with him all the time. Mother did not want to keep him couped up in th apartment all day, he needed the sun shine.

So when harvests were over and money in his pocket they decided to leave. He felt more secure He had learned a lot. He could find some kind of job. The time was right, the rains hadn’t started yet. The roads would be good and the streams low.

Dad was looking for a place with lots of water and no alikali. This alikali burned his skin and eyes awful He also thought about the winter coming on. Nothing much to do but sit around half the time, in a very small apartment. There must be some thing better.

Mother never told him she might be having a baby. So they loaded up their worldly goods and saying their goodbyes to these care loving people was very hard to do. Mother remembered the first time she said goodbye.

They were on their way. The trip was rough and barren. Lots of sagebrush and plenty of alikali dust. Alikali is a white salt substance that is very drying to the skin. It washes to the top of the soil and shows white, when dry the wind blows it flies in the air. Sometimes the rain washes it up and when it dries it looks like a small lake, at a distance. You’ve probably have seen some, if you have traveled in barren, sage brush country.

They traveled until they came to American Falls, Idaho. They stayed here Dad got some odd jobs. Sure enough Mother was going to have her second child. My brother William George was born on the 28th. of May 1905. They stayed here until Mother and Bill were able to travel.

Dad heard there were men needed, as a boom was on in Raft River, Idaho. It was then a big cattle town. So off then they started for Raft River, with two very small boys and every thing they owned. They made their way to Raft River Idaho. Some of the bridges were washed out. Dad would drive right thru the streams. Sometimes the water came up into the wagon bed. Mother would hold little Bill and little Walter sat on the seat between, Dad and Mother. The seat was much higher then the wagon bed floor.

They arrived in Raft River and got a job there. They homesteaded there. Cleared the ground and built a small house. We had a small vegetable garden and of course a flower bed. We got our water in a cistern. You pulled the water up in a bucket. It was hard water.

Here Dad became a photographer. He not only took the pictures but developed them and printed them. He even did tintype pictures.

Dad had a very good camera, for the time then. Later he took pictures of the school children where we went to school. They always turned out real good. Of course they were black and white.

Perhaps this is one of the pictures that Walter Underwood took of his children’s class. Elsie is the girl seated to the far right. Her brothers are also in this picture. I believe that the boy seated in the front row nearest the teacher is one of them, but I am not presently sure which is the other.

The camera stood up on a frame, three legs like a tripod but much higher. He could stand up and take the pictures. He had a black cape, he over his neck and around his shoulds. To keep the light off his lens and flim. He would look thru the lens and focos on what he was taking. He would take his pictures with a blub on a long cord. The cord was fastened to the camera. He would squeeze the blub to take the picture.

Later when I was going to school, he’d take some pictures, he’d get all riged up and ready to shoot, he’d tell us “see the birdie”. Of course we knew there wasn’t any bird, we’d laugh or smile. That’s just what he wanted us to do. His camera was one of those according type, the kind you see in antique shops or thrift shops.

I was born here in Raft River, Mother’s first girl 4 ½ lbs. I arrived six o’clock in the morning. Mom said I was ready for company one hour after I arrived. She had a midwife for me. No doctor just a nurse that could deliver babies.

Mother told me when I was jus six weeks old I pulled up, by the legs of the chair. Mom told me could remember this day as she had a friend over that had a baby boy the same age as me. She said they were wondering who would be the first to pull up. She told me to her amazement I did, right then.

I pulled up eary but maybe I shouldn’t have. I knocked out my first baby tooth. Mother was playing peek a boo with me. I looked doun in a hurry, trying to hide my face, I came doun on the seat of the chair. Bingo! Mother took me bleeding to my dad about one half mile away. He put it back in place. Mom said it was growing real good. Then I knocked it out with a hammer. I was teased a lot. without my front tooth. Everyone called me Grandma. They didn’t have the song “All I Want For Christmas is My My Front Tooth.” It was along time before I got my front tooth.

We had chickens on this land, the coyotes tried to steal our chickens. They were brave They would come right in the yard, she would shake the tea towel at them They would run away. Sometimes, she said they would come back with several more.

Dad was on the police force. He would be gone several days at a time. He and another man would go on horse back. They were suppose to bring back a thief or a outlaw.

My mother didn’t like this one bit. She was afriad to be left a lone over night. She had three small children. The town, at night was pretty rough. She called this town “a God forsaken country. Thank goodness Dad didn’t have to go very often.

After all she was a city girl, this must have been rough on her.

On day Dad was gone, Mom was, chopping some sagebrush. She left me in a clothes basket, thinking I would be O.K., I was only nine months old. She didn’t go very far but when she come back I was gone. She paniced thinking the coyotes had gotten me and dragged me away. I surprised her, I had gotten out of the basket and had waled a short way. She was happy to find and to know I could walk. She said after that she kept an eye on me.

Mom made our bread, ever since her cousin showed her how. She did a good job to.

It just happened after one of those bakings. She awoke one morning, to her surprise she found some odd looking people on her front porch. What to do, she was scared. Dad was still in bed, she ran in and woke him He sid “Just give them a loaf of bread”. She went back and did as she was told. The Indians were from the “Black Foot Tribe” They bowed and smiled at her.

Mother said she had studyed the Indians in school but had never seen one. Never expecting to be so close to them and handing, her own baked bread to them. The folks would wonder about that. The Indians came back a few times after that, she missed them when they quite coming.

My version of Raft River (not to many years ago)

Raft River now is a spot on the map. A service station, a very small store and a lot of rattle snakes.

We drove thru one day and stopped at Rupert Idaho, we asked about Raft River, the waitress smiled and told us, There’s nobody there anymore. There are a lot of rattle snake and they aren’t very big. It hot and dry when we went thru and sagebrush every where. This was a big cattle country at the time my folks were there.

I did how ever wonder, where my folk’s place had been. Where in this barren, desolate place, I was born.

To continue with the next instalment of Elsie's manuscript, click here.

Amanuensis Monday--Elsie Crocker’s Manuscript, Part 3: Staying with Walter Hawks

To read this project from the beginning, click here.

 

In this third installment of her manuscript, Elsie Crocker tells about some of Walter and Flora Underwood’s experiences once they reached their destination. They had already traveled halfway around the world, from England to the western United States, and were finally going to meet Walter Hawkes, whose letters and promise of a sack of tobacco had convinced them to make the journey.

Incidentally, Elsie gives their place of residence as Idaho Falls, Idaho. However, both the 1900 and 1910 censuses give his residence as Hyde Park, in Cache County, Utah. While it is conceivable that Elsie made an error in this claim—which would be understandable considering that she was writing about events that occurred before her own birth—there is also the possibility that the Hawkes family indeed spent some time in Idaho Falls. It is certain that they did have some connections to Idaho. Hyde Park itself is not far from the Idaho border. Moreover, the 1900 census gives the birthplace of Walter Hawkes’ daughter Madia Hawkes (born June 1888) as Idaho. And finally, the 1913 land owners directory for Pocatello, Idaho includes Walter Hawkes of Hyde Park, Utah. By 1920 and 1930, the family is residing in Preston, Franklin, Idaho.

Finally they were reaching their destination, Idaho Falls, Idaho. This was a much larger city than some of the cities they had traveled thru.

Mother, at last was relieved, to know she was going to stay put for a while. They were dead tired, to freshen and to rest for a while would be welcomed. Up to now the journey wasn’t anything to write home about. Mother was waiting to write to her folks, but to tell them about their experiences, her folks wouldn’t understand. She was afraid it would upset them. She was afraid they would want her to come back home. Therefore not many passed between them.

In Idaho Falls, by asking around they soon found Dads cousin. He was well known. His name was Walter Hawks. Everyone was glad the journey was over.

The Hawks seemed so happy the folks had arrived safe and sound. They were received with open arms. They made a big fuss over my brother Walter. I was especially refreshing to get a good bath.

After a while Walter Hawks said “Gee, Walter, I must give you, your sack of tobacco, that I have saved for you.” He handed my dad, a sack of tobacco, but it was a sack of Bull Durm. In England a sack is 100 lbs. He had come all this way for a sack about three inches by four inches and drawn at the top with a draw string. The sack weight about three or four ounces. Mother said you “should have seen Dad’s face, when he saw this tiny sack. This sack the men carried in their pockets, when they went to work. They used to roll their own cigarettes.

I bet my poor dad was disappointed, he had come all this way for a small sack of “Bull Drum”. I do honestly think the promise of this sack of Bull Durm, brought my mom to America.

Dad made light of it and joked about being such a fool. I’m sure it wasn’t the tobacco but the size of the sack.

Dad’s cousin had an upstair apartment ready for them. There were glad to have a place to stay, and such nice people to visit with. This is the first time they had felt comfortable since leaving England.

Dad worked odd jobs, plowing, planting and building fences and so forth. He was happy and worked hard, feeling he was doing things he hadn’t ever done before. Seeing the seed he had planted growing into something to eat. He was doing something worth while.

He did things he thought impossible, like plowing. A person ran behind a one horse plow or sometimes a two horse. You would put the reins over your head and around your neck. You held the two handle plow with both hands, to keep it right in the furlough. The horse was hitched to the plough, infront. It was hard work holding the plow in the furlough, keep it deep enough. After the plowing was done, it had to be disced, that’s chopping up the clods, a harrow was used to level it. Then the real work began, the handwork, making rows planting, watering and hoeing the weeds sometimes thinning. If you thined the small plants the others grew larger. Of course if the thin ones were large enough we would cook them and eat them.

Dad always told us “Where’s there a will there’s a way”

One day Dad’s cousin gave Dad a 100 lb. sack of corn, (we used to call them a gunny sack). They were insulted as in England corn was pig’s food. “What to do with it?” They decided the only place they had was under the bed. So under the bed it went. They had to hide so the cousins couldn’t see it when they came to the apartment. Mom and Dad was afraid their cousins would think they didn’t appreciate their thoughtfulness.

In the meantime Mother was learning to bake bread sew enough to mend their clothes. She was baking bread real good.

Time went by, what’s that smell? Well checking found it to be the corn under the bed. The corn was spoiling. “Oh what to do” They couldn’t carry it doun the stairs, as those kind people would see them. As time went by the smell got worse. So one night they stayed up until midnight. It was dark and everyone in bed and hopefully asleep. Dad very carefully carried that sack doun the stairs. No one saw him and no one ever knew, what he did with it. Mother never asked him what he had done with it. It was such a relief to get it from under the bed. They opened the windows wide that night, something that wasn’t possible before They were afraid their neighbors would smell it.

Dad has planted a lot of corn since and had learned to like it. To bad Mother never asked how to cook it, as I am sure they could have made good use of it. Especially when money was so scarce. Mother always quoted “To waste is to sin”. Or “Waste not is to want not”.

Now you can see fully why I have always loved the story of how my great-grandparents came to America for a “sack of tobacco.” What a punch line! By the way, in case you are confused by “Bull Durm,” that is Elsie’s misspelling of the popular brand name “Bull Durham.”

To continue with the next installment of Elsie's manuscript, click here.

Amanuensis Monday--Elsie Crocker’s Manuscript, Part 2: Meeting, Marriage, Migration

Another Monday, and it is time for the second installment of the transcription of Elsie Crocker’s manuscript. For an explanation of this project and to read the beginning of the manuscript, see last Monday’s entry.

This week Elsie tells us about her parents’ (Walter Underwood and Flora Amos) courtship, marriage, and their journey to the United States.

Being a “bobbie” my dad paroled the streets of London Sometimes he escorted the English royalty to special events.

They carried a “billy club” instead of a gun. Hit with one of these you would know it. The club swang from his wrist with a cord and held with his hand, always handy.

As a young lady, Mother and her sister Minnie would go shopping in London. Dad saw her and started asking about her, where she lived and who was she? He kept this up until he found out where she lived. He finally got up courage to make a call on her family. Mom and her family liked him right away. Mom told me her two younger sisters fell in love with him right away. They would sit by the window for hours waiting for him.

He didn’t waste much time in courting Mother. He started persuading her to marry him.

One night he came courting and his face and hands were black as soot. Looking very much like a blackman. He was riding a bicyle to Mothers house, which close to the water, where the fog was the thickest. It was what they called black fog. This fog was not uncommon in England. The fog was heavy and low, mixed with the black smoke and residue from the factories this is why it stuck to you. Riding a bicycle didn’t help matters any either.

After cleaning him up they had a great laugh. Mom said her sisters had a lot of fun kidding her about her blackman.

After a short romance, Dad encouraged her to marry. They were married, when Mom was 20 yrs. old and Dad was 27 yrs. old. They we married November 7th. Two days before her birthday which was November 9th. Dads was the 22nd of November.

They had a normal married life, until letters began coming from his second cousin, Walter Hawks, who was living in beautiful America and loving it. The letters were urging them to come to this land of plenty and make your stake, according to his cousin. America the land of plenty. Spacious skies, large green fields, many flowers and bountiful crops. Dad always had a dream of owing some land of his own. Growing things. Besides his cousin had promised him a sack of tobacco. Not that used much but anyone that had a sack of tobacco to give away must be rich. In England a sack was 100 lbs. Thats a lot of tobacco.

Dad was getting more anxious to go and see for himself this land of plenty, the promised land. Dad was still young and ambitious. He wasn’t getting any younger. He felt they should make a change now or never. Dad was now 28 years old, in those days, twenty-eight was getting old to start make something of yourself.

He alwys promised Mom they would return to dear old England and their families.

Letters still came full of adventure and fortune. Dad just couldn’t stand it any longer, they just had to go. Finally Mother gave into him, she knew if she didn’t he would never be happy again.

Oh, how she hated to leave her wonderful family behind. She loved her whole family They had been so good to her. She also loved her husband and small son. Walter was just six months old. She knew it was going to be a long hard trip with a small baby.

Dad was still promising her they would be back, as soon as he had made it good.

Boy Walter was six months old, they packed up all their wordly goods, ready to start their long journey to the land of plenty. Mother always called my brother Walter “Boy Walter” as Dads name was Walter.

They said their tearful goodbyes, full of love and excitement, they started not knowing it was the journey of no return.

They were on the ship for two weeks, in a small ship, rough seas, high winds. They had never witnessed anything like it before. On top of everything Mom was really sea sick. They couldn’t beleive her being so sick after she was raised near water all her life. She could rowe a boat as well as the next one. Dad conceded she could rowe better than he.

Mother has told us she was in a flood twice in her life. Living near the river they were washed doun stream. They woke up water all around them. She said it was awful. They lost just about everything.

This trip was so different, water as far as the eye could see. Unable to kee anything doun and bouncing from one side to the other. She had sea legs and could hardly stand up, let alone walk.

She tried to get to Boy Walter, somehow she made it. She said God was there to help her. She went to their berth, Oh, Boy Walter, Oh, where could he be? She was hysterical, she hunted everywhere. After a while she found him, in very goo care. The stewardess had him safe and sound. The stewardess were entertaining him, very seldom they had such a small baby on board. They told Mom not to worry they would be glad to help her out. Mother and Dad were both happy over that.

Those days men never knew much about the care of little ones. The men made the money and the mothers took care of the home and children.

A few days went by, the storm subsided Mom was feeling better. The sun was out, the ocean calm. The ship didn’t rock anymore.

This was a special day They ere getting close to the end of their ocean journey. Dad said it was one of the most beautiful days of his life. He could see the Statue of Liberty. The sun was shineing on it. She looked so beautiful. The entrance to the land of plenty. Everyone was excited “America here we come.”

They had reached land save and sound. It was good to stand on solid ground again. That night when they went to bed they could feel the motion of the ship, but it only lasted a couple of days.

The manifest of the Mayflower, the ship that the Underwood family took to America.

 

I am not certain how they arrived or what direct line they took to Idaho Falls, Idaho to where his second cousin lived.

Mother just told me some of the most important points. She never like to talk about it. When I asked her she would “Oh that’s behind us now, we’ve got a lot to be thankfulfor.”

I know they would take a train if there was one. But those days trains didn’t go everywhere. They made part of the trip by horses and wagon. When the bridges were washed out they would forge the rivers in the shallowest part. Mother told us some of the water would come up thru the floor of the wagon. She was scared the wagon would tip over. She also said that was the way the horses got their drink and cooled off.

The little towns were very crude and far apart. There was a lot of sagebrush as far as the eye could see. There wasn’t any trees, some willow once in a while. Ever once in the while there would be a few sunflowers.

The dusty roads were filled with chuck holes. Boulers and big rock on both sides of the road. She said once in while you could see where a snake had crawled across the road leaving their trail in the dust. Chicken hawks were very often seen flying over head. Watching for a special meal. Once a big hawk flew doun got a rabbit or a mouse in their huge claws, then flew away with their catch, probably to their nest and young ones. Hawks are a menace to the farmers, they kill their chickens.

Once in a while a coyote would run in front of them or a rabbit scurring away. It was hot and dry with a small baby and everything they owned in a wagon.

What courage, especially coming from their back grounds.

I always got a kick out of the story of how my great-grandfather came to America for a sack of tobacco. Later, in a period of time that Elsie does not cover in her manuscript, he moved his family to Oregon. I was always told that he chose Oregon “because blackberries grew on the side of the road.”

To continue with the next installment of Elsie's manuscript, click here. 

Amanuensis Monday--Elsie Crocker's Manuscript, Part 1: In England

You may have noticed that I don’t blog on a very regular basis. It has never been my goal to be a daily blogger; I would rather present any readers I may have with occasional well-researched articles than with daily notes. My blogs are sporadic, with perhaps two or three in consecutive weeks, and then perhaps one a month for several months. A quick glance at my archives will tell you that I am just now returning from a three-month absence.

Absence. As in vacation. I was not researching and writing during that time. I have nothing to offer from that period.

However, upon my return I discovered a wonderful resource for genealogical blogs, called Geneabloggers. This may be old news for some of you, but this week was the first time I ever stumbled across it. Along with links to a multitude of genealogy-related blogs, they also provide a list of daily blogging prompts. One that particularly caught my attention was Amanuensis Monday. This prompt is an encouragement to transcribe old family letters, documents, etc. Certainly I will never be a daily blogger, but for a while you will be able to count on me weekly.

You may have noticed that I have occasionally quoted a certain unpublished manuscript written by my grandmother’s sister, Elsie Crocker. She wrote it in the 1990s, but unfortunately none of us had the foresight to note the exact year. I have long intended to fully transcribe it, and now that I have the proper motivation I will do so.

Just a couple notes on how I will go about this project:

• I intend to retain all of Elsie’s original spelling and punctuation except in the case when it is an obvious typographical error or when the meaning becomes unclear. Most of the manuscript was typed with the caps lock turned on, so the choices in capitalization are mine.
• Elsie used few titles or divisions in her manuscript. All titles (i.e. title of the blog), except those included in the text, are my own. The divisions will be at my discretion and seldom original to the manuscript.
• The original manuscript was just that: a manuscript. I hope to sometimes include relevant pictures (although that may be difficult, as my scanner just died). Any comment or caption to a picture is my own, and not original to the manuscript.
• Once or twice there are stories or names that would not measure up to today’s “politically correct” standards. Remember, this was nearly a century ago, when people had different notions about what was and wasn’t acceptable. I do not believe in revising history to suit modern tastes. This does not imply approval of the old attitudes, but rather an idea that we cannot deny our past and must be able to face what we were in order to move forward.

Okay, you have waited long enough. Now for the feature presentation…

Elsie Crocker

My folks traveled to America from England (1903)

It’s the most important part of my life.

My mom and dad were both born and raised in England. I believe in Malden and Essex, County.

My dad had two sisters, both older than he. Mary was the oldest, she was married but no children. Sarah his second sister, had four children. To us she was known as Aunt Sadie. Thats what she wanted to be called. Dad had no brothers, he was the youngest.

My mother’s family was much larger, having seven children. There were five girls and two boys. Her sisters names were, (ranging in age) first Minie, Flora, (my mom) then Alice, Elsie, May who was the youngest.

My dad called my mother “Flo” for short, I guess, I like Flora best.

I was named after my mother’s two younger sisters, Elsie and May. I wished she had put the two named together as I have seen as (Elsymae).

Mother had two brothers, Arthur who was the oldest. Frank was the next oldest in their family, the girls came later.

A photograph of Elsie’s mom’s family back in England. Flora is second from the right in the back row. Elsie made a small error in claiming that the boys came first, then the girls. Arthur was, indeed, the oldest, but he was followed by Isabella, Flora, Minnie, Frank, Alice, Grace, May, and Elsie in that order.

Arthur was killed in the war, working on a loading dock. Frank was also killed while he was in the infantry, World War No I.

My mom’s dad’s name was George Amos. My brother was named after his Grandpa Amos. His name is William George Underwood.

My dad’s name was Walter Underwood I. My brother’s name is Walter Amos Underwood Jr. Walter named his son Walter Underwood III. Walter Underwood III and his wife Linda, has just celebrated the 25th. Aniversary.

Mother’s family was from what they called, in England, the middle upper class. These were people that could afford hired help, such as cooking, sewing, and cleaning and polishing their brass items.

Her father ran the ferry, and also ran a pub. The girls weren’t aloud to work in the pub. Not lady like.

They could help with the ferry. Mom told me they had a bell connect to each side of the river. The people would ring the bell that signaled for someone to fetch them from one side to the other side of the river.

The Creeksea Ferry. Presumably one of the ferrymen in this photo would have been George AMOS, but that has not been verified.

My dad was a policeman, which they called bobbies. He wore a uniform with a hat with a chin strap. The strap was placed under his chin to hold his hat on and in place. I have a picture of him with his hot off, it shows how the strap left a white mark on side of his face. Being outside all the time in the weather, the strap had protected his face under the strap. His number was 148 marker on the collar of his shirt.

This may or may not be a copy of the same photo that Elsie mentions. At any rate, it is a photograph of Walter UNDERWOOD in his bobby uniform.

 

The bobies had training just like the soldiers have in training. Dad always carried his shoulds straight. He was six feet, two inches tall. He wore a number twelve shoe. I think he was a handsome man.

He was always particular about his shoes, he kept them highly polished. He expected us to do the same. One day I missed the backs of my shoes, Dad said “You would make a good soldier.” I asked him why? He replied “Because a good soldier never looks back.”

Mom was small boned and five feet three inches tall always slim. Dad thought her very pretty. He told her he would like to keep her in a glass case. I bet when he first married her he was jealous of her. She had the bluest eyes, amost like violets. She was small featured. When she was young she had long wavy chestnut brown hair. She wore her hair up on top of her head with small curls across her forehead. She always beleived her hair changed color, since she came to America. She was a blonde when she was in England. I don’t think so as all of us were blonds when we were young. We all change to dark brown.

My parents have a better copy of this portrait of Flora AMOS, but it is two hours away at the moment, so this will have to do for now.

 

Mom never learned to sew or cook until she was married. She could knit, which she learned in school. She had a little apron she had to have at school, to keep her needles and knitting in.

Her dresses had a lot of lace and insertion. Also pleats and tucks. She wore them ankle length. A high neck with lace and a brooch at her throat. This brooch Dad had given her. She wore it a lot with her blouses. At the bottom of her dresses she had a deep ruffle. A far cry from what they wear now.

Elsie always pronounced the name “Amos” not with a lazy American schwa, but with a definite short “o” sound, and with approximately the same emphasis on both syllables, like “A-moss.”

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