Amanuensis Monday: Christmas dinner at home (Elsie's Christmas book part 5)

Now, wasn't that clever of me? I very carefully arranged this transcription of Elsie's Christmas Book to conclude during the Christmas season... and then forgot to schedule the publication date. So here it is, a week late, and after the conclusion of the Twelve Days of Christmas. Oops.

Fanciful image of a dragon playing Snap-dragon, from Robert Chambers' Book of Days (1879)
The original uploader was Ziggurat at English Wikipedia., Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons

Here he comes with flaming bowl,
Don't he mean to take his toll,
Snip! Snap! Dragon!

Although Elsie makes no mention of a rhyme, which she surely would have done had she remembered one, she does recall a game of snap dragon. This is a game with which I am familiar in only a literary sense; it is not commonly played in my part of the world. Knowing it as a game from Victorian England (although apparently it originated much earlier), I often wondered whether my Victorian English ancestors participated in it, and here Elsie gives me the answer to that question.

Our Christmas dinners were a lot like we have today, with the exception of plum pudding, mince pies, mince meat tarts. Mother used to make me a white cake with lemon filling and soft white frosting. I couldn't eat raisins for some reason and all her Christmas dessert had a lot of raisins. I still like that kind of white cake.

The turkey was always placed in front of Dad at the table. Always at the head. of the table., that was his seat always andevery day, of the week. We all were at the table together every meal, that we were home. Especially for dinner. Imagine eight at the table every day and most every meal. Thats what it was like after all Mothers children were grownup.

Dad would say a grace and give thanks for the day. He'd stand up with the craving knife an the steel to sharpen the knife. He would hold the knife in one hand and the steel in the other. He would rub them both together a few times and then he would start to carve the turkey. He was pretty good at it. I often wondered if the knife needed sharping every time.

He would ask us what part we wanted. White or dark. He usualy gave the drum stick. I never asked for it but he would say I know what part Sis wants and it was the drum stick. As I grow older I told him "Dad I think some of the others would like the drum stick." So he started to cut some of the meat off and make more drum sticks, we always had such big turkeys, there was enough for everyone.

He had a little saying while craving "You can have the wings and toes but I'll take part of the parson's nose." The parsons nose was the part the tail feathers came out.

Dad had to have Brussel sprouts, if possible and Mom liked a little bit of celery, her words. Dad's dessert for Christmas was "little pigs in a blanket." They were made from little sausages rolled up in pie crust and baked.

Once Dad placed a lot of raisins on a heat proof platter and poured brandy over them, then he lit the raisins they flamed up. He told us to go ahead and eat some of them. I was afraid of the fire, we were told not to play with fire My brothers were really eating the raisins, saying they were good. Dad asked why I was afraid of them. The boys weren't. So very cautiously I took one at a time. They didn't burn at all, just no heat. They went out before you got to your mouth. I didn't eat many as I never liked raisins anyway. It was exciting to watch my brothers eating them. Dad called them snapdragons. Now I know how the fellows that swallow the flaming sword or sticks fool us. The fire goes out as soon as it hits your mouths. Alcohol is a cool flame.

One night Santa came to our house early. We were going to have dinner early as Dad had an appointment for the evening. We were just a bout thru when Dad excused himself and said he'd be back as early as possible. He got up from the table and went into the bedroom. He came back all excited and in a hurry. "Santas been here I believe, theres something in the bedroom and the window is open." We all jumped up and ran as fast as we could to the bedroom. Dad was still mumbling "He must have come thru the window." He had us convinced. Behold he had been there. And left a lot of toys. The window was wide open and the curtains were waving in the breeze. No one in his right mind would open a window in the dead of winter. Our bedrooms were real cold in the winter time. Just a potbelly heater and the kitchen range to heat the whole house.

I am sure Dad never intended to go to any meeting that night. He stayed home and seemed real happy to enjoy our gifts.

This time we never had to wait for Santa to come, he was ahead of himself, no waiting, we still hated to go to bed Christmas Eve. It was so much fun staying up and playing with our toys. We got some real toys this year.

I enjoyed writing this, as it brought many memories.

Elsie May Crocker

April 15, 1990 

Citation:

Elsie Crocker, "Christmas on the Farm when I was a Small Child" (typescript, 1990); copy in possession of Amber Brosius, 2020.

Amanuensis Monday: Christmas dinner with neighbors (Elsie's Christmas book part 4)

On the fourth day of Christmas
My true love gave to me
Four calling birds
Three French hens,
Two turtledoves,
And a partridge in a pear tree.

 

Contrary to popular belief, the Twelve Days of Christmas refers not to the days leading up to Christmas Day, but actually begins on Christmas Day and ends on Epiphany, the day celebrated as the arrival of the Wise Men. Therefore, it is currently still Christmas, and I am still fully justified in sharing Aunt Elsie's Christmas stories. Next week's transcription will also arrive during Christmas, and I will endeavor to complete the transcription in that week, and thereby avoid the sin of unseasonality.

Mom always left her shopping until the day before Christmas. Getting her last minute preparations for a large dinner the next day. I don't see how she did it. Christmas dinner was always on time with out fuss. Dad always wanted his meals on time, all the time.

We always had plum pudding and mince pie and fruit cake. A old English tradition. We loved to watch her make her plum puddings and mince meat and her fruit cake. If we were lucky she would give us a taste of the candied fruit, raisins or currants.

A day or so ahead she made her mincemeat tarts. To be heated up the day of the dinner. She would make a sauce for the pudding the last minute, it was served warm. This sauce had brandy and vanilla flavoring. This time of the year was the only time I ever saw brandy in our house. I think they kept it on the top shelf of the pantry. Dad called it "Chinese tea" No one was suppose to touch it, used for medicine only. Dads words no one was to mess with it. To my knowledge no one ever did.

There were no mixes of any kind, Mom made everything from scratch. She had her own measuring devices. Like a measuring cup she had a tea cup, and a ordinary teaspoon, a tablespoon, a dessert spoon (a spoon less than a tablespoon) a pinch of this and a handful of that. I have to have good recipes. Let the other fellow do the guess work.

We had a large round table that sat eleven or twelve, five of us and neighbors family of four and a hired man or two.

I can't remember when we never has a turkey for Christmas. Of course it usually was one we had raised. Whether we bought or raised our own we had to dress it. The legs and the head were removed. Then Mom would pour boiling water over the feathers. We then picked off all the feathers and that left a lot of pin feathers. My job was to pick the pin feathers out. You had to be careful not to break the skin, when cooking the juices would leak out. The pin feathers are feathers not fully grown.

The enterals were removed, saving the liver, heart, gizzard and the neck. Wash the turkey very good inside and out. The liver, heart, gizzard and neck are cooked until tender. Can put in the gravy or in the dressing.

Everyother Christmas we had the neighbors over or they had us over. The Church's that were our neighbors had a girl my age and a boy Bill's age. Margart was the girls name and Charly was the boys name.

This was the Christmas we were going to the neighbors (the Churchs). for dinner. We got up early. It had snowed during the night. It was beautiful everything completely covered. The white glistening snow was just like a winter-wonderland, not a mark any where. A unbeleivabe fairyland.

We were thankful for having all our animals save and warm in their housings. This day they would stay inside and eat and stay out of the cold.

We even hated to disturb the out side walks. We had to tho in order to care for the animals. Our dog seemed to like it, but I don't think he knew what it was. He would get in a drift and had a hard time getting out. Us children had a lot of fun watching him. We were there ready to help him if he needed it, but he seemed to enjoy every minute of it.

My dad and my brothers cleaned off the sleigh and got the horses hitched to the sleigh. We would carry some warm blankets to keep us warm. The boys wore jeans, but not the girls We had to wear dresses all the time. It wasn't lady like to wear any kind of trousers. Thats by we had to wear long black stockings in the winter time to cover up our long jhons. Long jhons had long legs, sometimes you had to fold the legs at the bottom to fit the stockings. At Easter, off came the long johns. Then our legs would be cold, but we never complained for they might put them back on us.

We wore the warmest clothes we had. Mittens and scarves were a must. Our noses were as red as a big red cherry. We would blow out our mouths covered by scarves, to see how much steam we could make. It looked like smoke curling up. This would make our scarves wet, our scarves were wrapped around our neck and over our mouths to keep the cold from our lungs. The scarves would get wet and the dampness would freeze and make frosty ice crystals, it would look funny.

The ride to our friends was fairly short, but very pretty. The snow on the fences and bushes side of the road made us feel we were in a different world. The horses didn't seem to mind the snow, they seemed to pick up their feet a little higher, as tho they were strutting. Ever once in a while we would see small tracks acrossing the road probably some rabbits hunting some thing to eat.

The neighbors welcomed us with open arms, everyone talking at once. Asking how was the roads, did you have any trouble getting here. What did Santa leave?

In side it was real nice and warm. The smells were wonderful. The chattering soon lessened. The fresh air gave us an appetite. We would eat right away as Dad had to have his meal at noon. The dinner was very good, but they never had all the goodies as Mom made.

We played with their toys for a while and then went outside to play in the snow. Mostly snowing snowballs at each other.

It was time to go home, saying our good byes, we felt bad that we had to leave our friends behind. We had had a super day. They lived just a short ways, away from us. Mother would say "just a stones throw away."

We had a very nice dinner but my brothers missed the plum puddings and mince pie. The ride home was great but not as pretty as the ride in the morning, the roads were slushy from the traffic We couldn't see the tracks of the little rabbits.

It is interesting to hear about the English Christmas traditions that traveled to the U.S. with the Underwood family, and ponder how they were lost before my generation. I have never so much as seen a plum pudding in person, let alone tasted one. I did taste mincemeat once, but it was not at a family Christmas celebration. Fruit cake, too, has disappeared from our family table, although I suspect that one was not a great loss.

I also find it interesting to discover that my great-grandmother's style of cooking did not work for Aunt Elsie. All of the Underwood girls were fantastic cooks by the time I knew them, and I had supposed they had learned it from their mother. However, it seems that Elsie, at least, must have learned her skills elsewhere. It makes me wonder where, as well as how her sisters learned to cook.

 

Citation:

Elsie Crocker, "Christmas on the Farm when I was a Small Child" (typescript, 1990); copy in possession of Amber Brosius, 2020.

 

Amanuensis Monday: O Christmas Tree (Elsie's Christmas book part 3)

To read from the beginning of Elsie’s Christmas book, click here.

It’s time for part 3 of Elsie’s Christmas book. This time Elsie discusses her Christmas tree and the things under it, as well as some activities in the snow.

I remember the first real live tree we had, I wasn’t very old then. Mom decorated the high branches and Bill, Walter and I did the lower ones. This was a special event. We weren’t used to such luxuries, but I must say greatly appreciated.

Dad had bought some clip on candles. The candles could be lit. The holders were clipped on the boughs. He had a pail of water handy in case of fire. He saw to it we were all together around the tree. Then he lit the tree. How beautiful we were spelled bound for a few minutes.

Dad didn’t leave the candles burning only a few minutes. The tree was still pretty and smelled so good, we kept it until New Years night. I still like to keep my decorations up until New Years.

Our stockings were filled with a orange in the toe some hard candy and a lot of peanuts in the shell. We liked the evening and shell peanuts and eat them. Once in a while we would get mixed nuts. Maybe a stick of peppermint. A small doll, a cloth book, pictures to finish with yarn, a toothbrush, anew comb, maybe some kind of a book. We got what Santa could afford to give us, but he never forgot us.

One Christmas I got a bake set, the set contained flour, salt, baking powder, and you had to add some water to mix so you were able to roll it out a little thicker than pie crust. The set contain the rolling pin, a cutter and a pan to bake them in. So my brother Bill and I decided to make these crackers. We used Mom’s oven to bake them. We were proud of them, but no one wanted any so we were happy we ate them all. I had helped Mom but not really to bake anything from the beginning, this time was my very first. My brother and I were pretty proud they turned out as well as they did. We used a fork to make the holes in them.

One year my brother Walter got a race horse set. He had been very ill that year, so Santa was very good to him. He shared it with our brother and me. We spent many of hours watching which horse would win. That was one of the joy of sharing.

I always wanted a doll even if it was a very small doll I enjoyed sewing for it and made many clothes for it. Mother never sewed but our neighbors did and I was given a lot of pretty pieces of material. My doll was the best dressed doll in the neighborhood.

Sometimes we got paper dolls that had their paper clothes to cut out They were fun too.

One year I got a big doll with brown curly hair, that went to sleep. She didn’t sleep long My little sister poked her eyes out. Mother fixed the eyes but the doll don’t go to sleep again.

 

I don't know what ever happened to Elsie's childhood dolls, but this one belonged to Elsie's sister, my Grandma Aileen. She has had a visit to a doll hospital in later years, and is thus in tolerable condition despite her age. (Before the doll hospital, she was rather terrifying.)

 

One Christmas Santa forgot to bring me a doll. I was unhappy that I cried but no one ever knew. That year Santa brought me a comb and brush set. I was always breaking the other combs my hair was so thick. I guess that was the sign I was growing up.

In Idaho Christmas always seemed to be a beautiful day. There was clean white snow everywhere. On every thing a winter wonderland. It was pretty but very cold. Icicles hanging from the roofs of all out buildings, including the house. The icicles hung from six to twelve inches long. The sun during the day would melt the snow as it ran off the house would freeze making more icicles and adding length to the other icicles there. The warmth of our stoves made the roof warm, which made the snow melt.

Some of the mornings I would get up and seeing my mom looking out the window, I would ask her what she was looking at. She would answer me “Oh, I was just looking out to see if we are going to be snowed in.”

Sometime we knocked the icicles doun and made ice cream, of course we had to break the icicles up and add salt to it. It freezes faster with salt.

We made ice cream in the snow, by using a tin bucket with a clencher lid (so the lid couldn’t come off and let the snow in the ice cream.) We used eggs, milk, and sugar. Of course we flavored with vanilla. We’d find a big drift of snow, then place our bucket in the snow. After a while we would lift the lid and see how it was doing. We took turns, turning the bucket. The ice cream was like our ice milk we have now.

Christmas after the chores were done we could do what ever we liked. We loved to play in the snow, making angels snowmen and making forts. We would have two forts a small distance apart then we would get in one and some of the others would get in the other. One would throw snowballs back and forth. It was fun snowballing but some of the boys would get water soak them, then they hurt when they hit you.

Even with wool mittens our hands would freeze, it was so cold. We had to change clothes when we came in to the house Mom made us soak our hands in cold water first than warm before we went to the stove. She was afraid chilblains. If they got warm to fast they would hurt. Mother never like to have us eat the first snow as she said all the germs in the air was in it.

The description of making ice cream in the snow reminded me of someone I knew years ago. Beginning in high school and on through college, I worked in an old-fashioned ice cream parlour, complete with a soda fountain. We had a number of regular customers, and I got to know some of them pretty well. We would chat while they enjoyed their ice cream treats. To this day I can still remember the usual order of a number of these people—as in, they could come in and say, “I’ll have the usual,” and I knew what to make.

This particular person’s favorite was caramel butter pecan ice cream, but how he wanted it served would vary. Sometimes a cone, sometimes a dish, sometimes a sundae… if he’d ever said “I’ll have the usual,” I wouldn’t have known what to do. We often chatted about many things, but one of the things that has stuck with me through the years is his memory of making “snow cream.” His description of the process was rather similar to the process Elsie described for making ice cream, except for a couple things. Firstly, I was under the impression (whether correct or not, I cannot say) that the snow cream used snow as an ingredient as well as a way to chill it, and secondly, the snow cream was flavored with maple syrup.

Citation:

Elsie Crocker, "Christmas on the Farm when I was a Small Child" (typescript, 1990); copy in possession of Amber Brosius, 2020.

Amanuensis Monday: The Schoolhouse and Santa (Elsie's Christmas book part 2)

Last week I discovered that Aunt Elsie really had written a Christmas book and I transcribed the first two pages. Now it is time to transcribe a couple more pages.

You may remember that she was telling about how they would prepare for Christmas in the one-room schoolhouse she attended. Here she continues:

The last school day before Christmas we would have a party. All the children were looking forward to it. We were to ask all our parents to come and enjoy our labors of preparing for the special day.

 

This is the second of the two photos I have showing the actual school room Elsie describes. Elsie is sitting in the front row, second from the right, in a white dress. Her brothers are also in the photo. Bill is in the second row on the very end, wearing overalls. Walter is standing behind him, on the very end of the third row, also wearing overalls.

 

I think all the parents were there, dressed in their best. We had a small program, then a sing along where every one joined in, parents and all. Some of us had to recite poems. My poem Dad told me. I was in the first grade. It was like this.

“The first time I stepped upon the platform”
My heart went pitty pat
For I thought I heard
Someone say Who’s little girl is that?

Refreshments were much the same as ours now: coffee, cookies and a mince ham bun sandwich. The children got lemonade. The very last thing the teacher would hand out a red mesh stocking, she had made out of the red mesh, she had bought for maybe five cents a yard. She sewed these stockings by hand or on a sewing machine she peddaled with her feet. Those days men worked for fifty cents to a dollar a day.

In the toe of the stocking was a apple or a orange, a little candy and a few peanuts with the shells on. Sometimes a small candy cane. Gee! We were happy we could hardly wait to get home to see just what we had. We’d put everything back in the stocking to admire for a while. Little things meant so much.

We got our chores done early that evening. Of course the chickens had to be fed, eggs gathered, woodboxes filled, the cows milked, horses beded doun. See that all gates closed, feed the dog. The dog always slept under our porch outside. We also helped Mom with the dishes.

Sounds like a lot of work but we had a lot of hands. Many hands make light of the work. We all had our jobs to do If we got thru our jobs we would help the others get theirs done. Then the evening was ours to do what ever we wanted to do.

I liked to sit on my dads lap and comb his pretty hair. At one time Dad had a mustache, I loved to curl his mustache. It curled up on the ends just like Grandpa Gene’s. Dad had some wax he used on the tips.

It was time to hang up our stockings for Santa to fill. We each hung up our own clean stocking. We didn’t have a fireplace We laid them on the couch all in a row. We called the davenport a couch those days. Dad would smile seeing three different size stockings all in a row. I was afraid the boys having the largest stockings would get more than I but Santa saw to that. But I was mistaken, we all got the accurate amount.

The excitement of Santa and his eight reindeers, with his big sack of toys, kept my brothers and I wide awake.

We had a lot of snow, so we were expecting to hear his sleigh bells. It seemed so long before morning, we tossed and turned, so hard to settle doun. Wondering what he would leave us.

My brothers room was next to mine, so we could holler back and forth, making it more difficult to fall a sleep. We listened real hard for his sleigh bells in the snow.

This was a long night however we finally fell asleep Early the next morning we were awake. The first one awake would wake the others. One of us would tiptoe doun the stairs, to see if our stockings were filled. Then he or she would tip toe back up the stairs and tell the others. He had been there, what a rush, everyone jumped up at once. We ran doun the stairs into Mother’s and Dad’s room to a waken them. Of course they were already awake, with all this excitement going on, how could they sleep? They seemed as happy as we were, with our gifts.

Looking back we never received much but no one could have been happier.

Our stockings were filled with nuts and candy, not so full you couldn’t take a hold of the top and carry them around.

Sometimes we had different kinds of candy allways wrapped in tissue paper, when it was put in our stockings. There was no waxed paper, aluminum foil or saran paper. Plastic was unheard of.

 

 

A platter of ribbon candy, a favorite of my mom's as well as Elsie.
Photo by Travel Photographer from StockSnap

We had peppermint sticks or hard candy with soft fillings, with different fillings and colors. We always liked these soft fillings, it was a surprise to see what color was inside. There was some round, round and flat with a pretty flower in the middle of it. These we never could [figure out] how they got the flower so perfect in the middle. We also had ribbon candy, it was different, it had different color stripes, it was about one and half inches wide and looped and pushed together like soft according pleats. This ribbon candy is still sold in the special stores today, at Christmas time. Also the candy sticks of different colors and flavors.

We didn’t get all this candy all at once but what Santa wanted us to have or what he could afford. Sometimes Santa gets short of money. He has a lot of children to visit.

When I was a little girl we were told, if we had been bad we wouldn't get any thing. He was supposed to have fairies to help him check up on us, if we had been naughty or not.

 

This time it is a little easier to choose a stopping point, as the subject changes slightly after this.


The reference to “Grandpa Gene” and his mustache puzzled me. I knew he wasn’t one of Elsie’s grandfathers; she never met either of hers, and their names were William and George anyway. After some cursory research, I am still puzzled. I am supposing that “Grandpa Gene” was a figure in popular culture at some point during Elsie’s life, obviously at a point prior to her writing of this memoir in 1990. Since I could find no mention of anyone with that nickname before 1990, I suspect that it may have been a local figure, well known in the Portland, Oregon area to a certain generation, but without a national audience to remember him frequently online.
 

I also chuckled at “We called the davenport a couch those days,” as one would be hard-pressed to find many people who still call a couch a davenport! Well, at least around here. Perhaps it is still common in other parts of the world.

Citation:

Elsie Crocker, "Christmas on the Farm when I was a Small Child" (typescript, 1990); copy in possession of Amber Brosius, 2020.

Amanuensis Monday: Christmas on the Farm (part 1)

I can’t believe it. I can not believe it. After all these years…

I have always been a festive person, of the type who not only doesn’t mind, but actually enjoys hearing Christmas carols and seeing tinsel and holly long before Thanksgiving. So it should come as no surprise that I spent a portion of yesterday watching holiday videos on YouTube. With a renewed interest, I watched histories and recipes regarding a traditional English Christmas. I contemplated attempting a plum pudding, despite having never seen one in person, and was fascinated with the game of “snapdragon,” in which children snatch raisins from flaming brandy. To any British readers, this may seem a natural and ordinary part of Christmas, but to a plain Oregonian like me, it seems exotic and frightening. I wondered how my British ancestors celebrated Christmas and whether they had ever played snapdragon. I thought about Aunt Elsie’s typescript, remembering that she had written “My Christmas book is separate form this one,” and I wished that such a book actually existed.

Yesterday, when I should have been strapping on my face mask and heading to the mall to finish up my Christmas shopping, I opened up my cedar chest and began flipping through the family files that Dad and I had hurriedly organized a few months ago, with the intention of scanning some of the more interesting items. And I did. I found some of my grandpa’s Army records, including his discharge papers, which I will examine more closely later. I found the pages torn from the Wade family Bible. I found the missing Civil War pension papers for Allen C. Wade. And then I found about a gazillion copies of Elsie’s typescript, all bound. (I will finally be able to make sure the pages of my copy of the typescript are in order!)

Curiously, only one of the bound volumes was in the blue cover I remembered. The rest had red covers. I opened one up, and a chill ran up my spine.

CHRISTMAS ON THE FARM WHEN I WAS A SMALL CHILD

read the first line. Was this truly the missing Christmas book? I read on… and on… and on. I closed the book with an exhaled “huh!” and a chuckle. I had actually found it. The lost Christmas book really did exist.

Naturally, the next step is to transcribe it. The same policies I used for the original typescript will apply to this one, namely:

• 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 typescript was just that: a typescript. I hope to sometimes include relevant pictures. 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 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.

Now I will present the first couple of pages.

Christmas on the farm when I was a small child

Elsie Crocker

This farm was located ten miles from Boise Idaho and six miles from Meridian Idaho. Right in the middle of the fertile valley of Boise, Idaho. The place my dad had been looking for.

This ranch was called “Shaw’s and Dorr’s Orchard”. It was owned by two families, that lived in Boise. They visited the ranch often. They each had a family. The Dorr’s had a boy my age. The Shaw’s had a girl, whose name was Inez Shaw, whom my sister Inez was named for.

We stayed on this ranch for five years. We had a new house and all the necessaries when we moved in. They had a well dug and had it run by a motor. This was great, lots of nice pure water to drink. It was used for the animals and gardens.

Dad had hired men to help build the sheds, barn, and pig pen. We had two horses, one cow whose name was Queenie. One horse was coal black, his name was “Nig” The other horse was named Dick He was a pretty roan, with a white star on his forehead. Dick was a high spirited, but Nig was slow and easy. My mother thought Dick had a lot of “spunk”

We finally got turkeys, chickens, a couple of pigs, and our first big black and white dog, which we all loved. We called him Blackie, he would wake us up every morning.

Dad planted all kinds of fruit trees. The trees were small, so we had to wait a few years for their fruit.

Dad’s real job was to plant eighty acres of prune trees.

We finally got a root cellar where we kept our milk, eggs and fruit cool. The summers in Idaho were very hot Things spoiled fast in the heat. We never had an ice box, refrigerators were unheard of.

We felt fortunate to have a real nice house to live in. Lots of good pure water to use anyway we needed. Good rich soil to grow vegetables, chickens for all the eggs, we needed, and Queenie to give us milk and enough to feed the animals. Milk to drink and whipping cream for cakes and goodies. Yes we made our candy and pop corn balls. Money was scarce but money isn’t everything, Dad would say. We had each other and we were very happy.

Dad liked to see things grow, therefore we always had a lot of vegetables and flowers. Dad always planted violets close to Mothers bedroom window, she loved the scent of violets and always did.

Dad would plant a lot of popcorn between the rows of squash, pumpkins, and melons. The summers are real hot and dry just the right for growing melons. Oh! How good they are right off the vine. We had enough to share with neighbors and school friends.

We dried the popcorn on a spread out canvas or by twisting the tops together and hung up by the tops on a nail in the woodshed.

The popcorn had to be real dry to pop good. The ones that didn’t pop we called “old maids”. I think we still call them that.

My brothers and I had to shell the popcorn. We’d take two ears and rub them together. After the first kernels loosened up the others would come off easy. You had to be careful shelling the corn, because the popcorn had sharp points as sharp as a needle. That’s the way we could tell the popcorn from the regular corn. I think they have popcorn different now, without points.

A few days before Christmas we would pop a lot of corn getting ready to take it to school, where we would thread it with cranberries to make garlands. We used a needle and a strong thread. The red and white was very pretty.

Our tree wasn’t fir or noble as we have now. These kind of trees were scarce in Idaho. They had a few shipped in. I suppose they have all kinds there now.

The school was a one room school with all eight grades one teacher for all eight grades. My brothers went there with me or I with them. It was nice to have some help making our decorations, from the older students.

Our school Christmas tree was one the older boys, cut from the vacant lot next to the school house This tree was a willow or a shrub bush, no matter we loved it just the same.

We made ring chains and cranberry and popcorn garlands. We made other ornaments out of what ever we had to work with. The teacher had a beautiful honeycomb big bell in the middle of the room. She kept this always for the next Christmas. It was snowy white.

We would make paper doll strings, folding the paper many times and cutting a string of paper dolls, and holding hands.

Of course we had to clean out our desks to be all clean for Christmas.

This was a special day!

 

This is one of two photos in my collection showing the actual schoolroom Elsie describes. Elsie is sitting in the front row, closest to the camera, wearing a white dress. Walter is in the front row closest to the teacher, wearing overalls. Bill is, from the camera's perspective, directly in front of Walter, in the second row, also wearing overalls.

 

I will arbitrarily end there, as this memoir is difficult to divide into chapters. 

 

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

Citation:

Elsie Crocker, "Christmas on the Farm when I was a Small Child" (typescript, 1990); copy in possession of Amber Brosius, 2020.

Wordless Wednesday: Grandma Aileen's Pedigree Scrapbooking Page

Just felt like sharing this digital scrapbooking page I created for Grandma Aileen's pedigree...

52 Ancestors Week 8: Prosperity

The theme of Prosperity brings to mind my great-grandfather Walter Underwood's sister and her husband. The newspaper article celebrating the couple's golden wedding anniversary makes them sound very prosperous indeed.

Maldon Golden Wedding

Mr. and Mrs. J. W. Bell.

To-day (Saturday) Mr. John William Bell, J. P., and Mrs. Bell, of Spital Road, Maldon, will celebrate their golden wedding. They were married at the Wantz Road Methodist Church, Maldon.

Mrs. Bell was the daughter of Mr. and Mrs. W. Underwood, of Hawkwell. Mr. Bell is a native of Westgate, near Weardale, Co. Durham, and came to Maldon in 1886 to assist in the construction of the Maldon-Southminster-Southend railway. On the completion of that line he remained in employment with the old Great Eastern Railway as a foreman platelayer, a position he held until he retired on reaching the age limit of 65.

In 1907 Mr. Bell was elected delegate for the G.E.R. Permanent Way Department on the Joint Conciliation Board, representing the extensive Ipswich district. For some years he devoted his spare time to endeavouring to improve the conditions of railway workers, and he played a big part in the reduction of hours and the increase of wages. When the Maldon branch was formed, Mr. Bell was appointed chairman, and he held that office until the branch was amalgamated with the National Union of Railwaymen 17 years later. Mr. Bell has always been an ardent Trade Unionist.

Mr. Bell was for some years chairman of the Maldon Co-operative Education Committee. In 1918 he was appointed a Justice of the Peace for the borough, and is about to commence his sixth successive year of office as chairman of the Juvenile Court. For three years he served on the Town Council, and for some time was a member of the Maldon Board of Guardians.

Mr. Bell is 74 and his wife 71. There is no family, but Mr. and Mrs. Bell have brought up a niece, who is now a Sister under the L.C.C. at the Eastern Fever Hospital, Homerton.

Source:

"Maldon Golden Wedding," The Essex Newsman, 31 Dec 1938, p. 1, col. 2; digital images, British Newspaper Archive (http://www.britishnewspaperarchive.co.uk : accessed 26 Dec 2012), Brightsolid in partnership with the British Library.

Thanksgiving 1914 (Remembering Aileen Underwood)

Now, therefore, I, John M. Haines, governor of the state of Idaho, do hereby join with the president of the United States in designating and setting apart Thursday, the 26th day of November, Thanksgiving Day, and I call upon our people to cease from all labor on that day and congregate at their houses of worship, or assemble at public meeting places, or gather around the family altar and offer to Almighty God their most heartfelt thanks for the blessings that are ours, and their most fervent prayer for the perpetuity of the conditions that make such blessings possible--thanks that ours is a land where every citizen is protected in life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness, prayers that as a nation we may ever be guided by the inspirations of the fathers of the republic--thanks that our country is at peace with the world, prayers that the carnage across the seas may cease.

So proclaimed Governor John M. Haines on 9 Nov 1914. Among those making preparations for the upcoming holiday, was the Underwood family of Meridian: Walter, the very pregnant Flora, and their children Walter, Bill, Elsie, and Olive. 

Elsie once told me about this particular Thanksgiving Day, and I wish she were still here to clarify the details for me. I am not certain whether Flora was planning to host the family gathering and the ensuing events changed that plan, or whether--and more likely, considering Flora's condition--it was planned all along that the family would go to their "Aunt Sadie's" (Walter's sister) house. But, either way, Aunt Sadie ended up serving as hostess. I like to envision a dramatic scene at the Underwood house, with all the family circled around the table, and Flora suddenly gasping out, "It's time!" She is then rushed into the bedroom, while Sadie graciously takes over the duties of the hostess. But it seems far more probable that Walter and the children went to Sadie's to begin with. Flora was nine months pregnant, after all, and preparing a Thanksgiving feast would have been quite strenuous.

Flora was in the bedroom, in labor. There was a woman, or some women, to help her (I seem to remember Elsie saying), but none of the family. Childbirth was for women, not for men, and definitely not for children. It was for the best if the family could be shuffled off to their aunt's for the celebration. And when they returned, Flora had a brand new baby girl. 

The child was named Aileen Maryann, after her Aunt Sadie's daughter Ileane and her paternal grandmother Mary Ann (Valentine) Underwood. I have always found it odd that her eponym should be "Ileane," while her own name was pronounced "Alene." Perhaps there was an evolution in the pronunciation of her first name as she grew.

She grew, eventually married Vinis "Red" Brosius, and had two children of her own. More time passed, and she became my grandmother. By the time I was able to remember, she had been widowed, and lived alone. To differentiate my two grandmothers, I called her "One Grandma," after the number of people living in her house. (My other grandma was "Two Grandma," for the same reason, but she didn't like the connotation of being number two, so I seldom called her by that name.) I remember that she tried to go along with my naming of her, but generally got it backwards, signing her cards "Grandma #1."

One Grandma, or Grandma Aileen as I more often call her now, passed away when I was only ten years old, and as recently as 2013 I was able to write (in a rough draft for a blog post about her which I never completed) "I still remember her well. However, my memories are beginning to fade a little, and get a little distressed around the edges like a photo that has been carried in a wallet for too long. So it is a good time to set them down, while they are still crystallized." Unfortunately, that metaphorical photo has been carried in my wallet for even longer, and is beginning to get creases and wear not only around the edges, but across the face. It becomes harder and harder to conjure up memories of her. 

The easiest memories to invoke are the general impressions of her as the "perfect grandma"--the kind you see on old television shows, the kind that cooks up a full turkey dinner with all the trimmings for every holiday, the kind that keeps her yard and her house immaculate, the kind that always makes you feel special. She was my only babysitter for most of my childhood, and every time we arrived at her house she would either be gardening in the yard, cooking in the kitchen, or knitting on the couch. She subscribed in my name to World magazine, the child's edition of National Geographic (and far superior to today's National Geographic Kids), and as I entered the house I would always look on the foyer table next to the tiny cactus in the boot-shaped ceramic vase to see if the new issue had arrived yet. Often I would, very gently, poke a needle in the cactus to show how brave I was.

Grandma taught me how to squeeze the sides of a snapdragon flower to make the "dragon" open its "mouth," and I remember the two of us playing with them in the back garden like puppets. The snapdragons were near the tomatoes and potatoes, and Grandma taught me how to harvest the potatoes. (She probably taught me how to harvest tomatoes as well, but I didn't like tomatoes.) I remember her teaching me, but I don't remember how to do it.

I do remember how she taught me to sew. She taught me my first stitch, the running stitch. She had once worked at Jantzen Knitting Mills, and had a a number of tricks. Perhaps if she had lived longer I would have become proficient. But she, at least, gave me a decent foundation. She did beadwork, as well. I forgot most of what she had taught me about that for a while, but then re-learned.

Grandma was a wonderful cook. I was fortunate enough to indirectly inherit some of her cooking ability. My maternal grandmother was... not a wonderful cook, so my mom eventually learned from her mother-in-law, Grandma Aileen, and then passed her learning on to me. Although Grandma Aileen was a wonderful cook, I was a picky child. She had to get creative to get me to eat anything besides peanut butter and jelly sandwiches or chicken noodle soup. To this day, the only way I truly enjoy a tuna fish sandwich is the way that Grandma made it: the canned tuna mixed thoroughly with a little mayonnaise, spread on white Wonder Bread, cut into four squares (not triangles), and with a few Pringles on the side.

One day she made tomato soup, which I refused to even taste because: tomatoes. So Grandma introduced me to the melon baller. I was to eat my soup with a melon baller instead of a spoon. The soup would run through the hole in the scoop, so I had to rush it to my mouth before it all ran out. Much to my surprise, tomato soup suddenly became palatable. After that, I often asked to eat my soup with a melon baller, and my favorite soup became tomato. 

The holidays were always spent at Grandma's house, with the whole family and a full dinner. Turkey, mashed potatoes and gravy, Jell-O salad, candied yams, coconut cream pie, chocolate pudding pie. We would all gather around the table together, but when it wasn't dinnertime, Grandma would be in the kitchen. She had a galley kitchen in her house, right off the dining room and visible from the living room. You couldn't comfortably fit more than one person in that kitchen at a time. So often Grandma would be in there alone, while the rest of us were gathered in the living room talking. And Grandma would be in the kitchen, laughing and laughing. She had the most joyous, infectious laugh. One couldn't help but laugh with her. She would shout out her contributions to the conversation, too, but her laugh was the most memorable thing.

The more I write about Grandma, the more memories begin to flood back. I remember how she would sometimes sit on the floor and play Barbies with me, and when we were done she would ask me to help her up. I would try to pull her up by the hand, and she would grunt and make it to her feet.

I remember that she wore false teeth, and would dislodge them from her gums and display them between her lips when I would request it. It was like an amusing magic trick.

I remember that she kept a bucket of coins in one of her kitchen cupboards, which she would let me play with. 

I remember the time she jumped up and down in her garbage can to compact the trash, but fell out and we had to rush her to the hospital with a broken wrist. Luckily it happened just as we were leaving her house, before we were gone. We were actually in the car, pulling out of the driveway, when it happened.

One day, she was diagnosed with ovarian cancer. I was nine years old. We visited her at the hospital, or at the nursing home, every day after school. Sometimes it was boring, and I sat in the hallway doing my homework. The nursing home had a pet rabbit in a cage, which I enjoyed. I remember she had a roommate at the nursing home for a while: a young woman named Bonnie. We liked Bonnie.

Being in the nursing home, Grandma could no longer keep her hair dyed brown as it had always been. That was when I learned that Grandma dyed her hair. I remember that when it grew out, it was the most beautiful golden shade of gray, and I couldn't understand why she had been dying it.

On November 26, 1989, for her 75th birthday, I brought in my violin to play her "Happy Birthday." By that time she could no longer talk or move, but she listened with loving eyes to my scratchy, off-key rendition of the song. The next day she died.

Christmas of 1989 was the first Christmas we ever celebrated without her. But there were still presents under the tree with her name on the tag. She had done her Christmas shopping by mail order before she passed away. My present was exquisite: a real silver vanity set with a mirror, a brush, and a comb. The back of the mirror was engraved, and she had finally gotten it right. The engraving reads, "From #1 Grandma."

Today is the 115th anniversary of that eventful Thanksgiving Day when she was born. I have never forgotten her on this day, even if it is only to look up to Heaven and whisper, "Happy birthday, Grandma."

Sources:

"Thanksgiving Day Proclamation by the Governor of Idaho," The Meridian times, 13 Nov 1914, p. 1, col. 2; digital images, Chronicling America (https://chroniclingamerica.loc.gov : accessed 24 Nov 2019), Historic American Newspapers.

Elsie Crocker, "Elsie Crocker" (typescript, 1990s); copy in possession of Amber Brosius.

Personal reminiscences of Amber Brosius.

Inez (Underwood) Linn: A Pictorial In Memoriam (1917-2017)

 

On 1 Mar 1917, my grandma's youngest sister, Inez Flora Underwood was born. This last Tuesday she passed away, aged 100 years and 34 days.

I am posting several pictures of her found in my grandma's photo albums.

 

These pictures were probably taken in the 1930s.

In two of these pictures, Inez is in front of the Underwood family home in Netarts, Oregon.

The previous two photographs were evidently taken on the same day. Inez is wearing the same outfit and pictured with the same truck in both pictures. In the first, the background is the family home; in the second, the background appears to be the beach at Pacific City, Oregon, a fairly short drive from their home in Netarts. 

This picture appears to have been taken in Happy Camp, just outside the town of Netarts. The headless figure standing behind Inez is my Grandma Aileen.

This last picture is one of my favorites. I'm not really sure what is happening, butI like to think that Ray and Inez are flirting. Ray Linn became Inez's husband on 26 Oct 1940.

Amanuensis Monday: Soil Stabilization District

This week I am transcribing an article which touches only briefly on my family history. Instead, my interest in the article stems more from a familiarity with the geographical area and its history.

First, the family history portion: Walter Underwood is stated to be the president of the Netarts and Oceanside Community club. I am not certain at this time whether it is Walter Underwood, Sr., my great-grandfather, or Walter Underwood, Jr., his son, but it is one or the other. They both had homes in Netarts.

The beach at Netarts, looking toward Happy Camp, August 2015

Group Urges Soil District

NETARTS, March 30. (Special)—Members of the Netarts and Oceanside Community club expressed a desire at a meeting of the club here this week for a soil stabilization district to extend from the one recently organized in the Sandlake area, north along the coast and taking in Bayocean.

With considerable sliding along the coast line, including extensive erosion on the Bayocean peninsula, it was felt a soil stabilization district is needed. Mich Provo, Netarts; Robert Brady, Oceanside; Bob Watkins, Bayocean, and Walter Underwood, Netarts, president of the club, were chosen to look into the matter of getting a soil stabilization district established.

Developments in the Cape Lookout area, including a state park under development, also were discussed. Mrs. Robert Brady of Oceanside was elected secretary to complete the unexpired term of Quentin Terry, Oceanside, who resigned from the office.

The article mentions “extensive erosion on the Bayocean peninsula,” which makes anyone with a knowledge of Bayocean history nod sagely. The town of Bayocean no longer exists. It was founded as a vacation resort town, but the building of a new jetty on only one side of the bar caused a change in the ocean currents, and the town was eaten by the sea.

At the time that this article was published, the natatorium had already been swallowed, but some buildings yet remained. The town was still a town, albeit a suffering one. The worst was yet to come. Eventually every building would fall, and the spit on which the town had been built would become an island.

Today, the spit has been reestablished as a spit due to the building of a second jetty, which caused the sands to re-accumulate. It is again connected to the mainland, but its glorious past is long gone. The only building on it now is an outhouse for the convenience of boaters and those who come to walk or ride their bikes up its single gravel road. It is now a county park, closed to vehicular traffic.

Walking down Bayocean Spit, August 2012

I also find the mention of “developments in the Cape Lookout area, including a state park under development” to be interesting. Nearly every summer a large group of friends and I enjoy the campground at that state park and hike the trail that runs to the bluff. It seems almost strange to realize that the park was still new in 1940.

The beach at Cape Lookout State Park one misty July morning, also in 2012

Citation:

“Group Urges Soil District,” The Oregonian, 31 Mar 1940, p. 26, col. 4; digital images, America’s GenealogyBank (http://www.genealogybank.com/ : accessed 23 Jun 2012), Historical Newspapers.

Mary Ann VALENTINE

In the family album there is a photograph of two elderly people, my great-great-grandparents William and Mary Ann UNDERWOOD. The gentleman is standing, looking the very picture of the era with his white beard and serious expression. In his posture I can trace the resemblance to his son, my great-grandfather Walter UNDERWOOD, Sr. The woman is seated, her clawlike hands docilely resting in her lap. Her face bespeaks a life of suffering, which has long intrigued me. She looks so much older than her husband, as though she were his mother rather than his wife. [Note: now that I say that, I am questioning whether this might not actually be a photograph of William and his mother, whose married name was also Mary UNDERWOOD...]

Actually, she was three years younger than William. She was baptized on 2 June 1834, the third surviving child of Charles VALENTINE and Mary Ann REEVE. Her brother William was four years older than she; her sister Sarah scarcely over a year older. And she was soon to have a younger brother Charles about a year and a half later. They were raised in White Notley, in the Braintree district of Essex county, England.

Their childhood seems to have been a bit rocky. Judging from the records, they seem to have lived in poverty, and in what might very well have been a broken home.

In 1841, the first census available, the children are found in a household headed by their mother, but the man who seems to be generally accepted as their father (none of the evidence I have found contradicts his relationship, but none of it proves it, either) is found in the household of his own parents. Granted, he could have been just visiting his parents on the day the census was taken, but the next census increases the mystery.

But before we examine that census, let’s finish looking at the 1841 census. Mary Ann the mother is working as a plaiter, a common occupation at that time for the rural poor. Women could still run a household while straw plaiting, and the children could help with the task. William, the oldest boy, is working as an agricultural laborer, that vague occupation of so many men—and even some women—in British censuses. The age of 11 may seem quite young to begin earning one’s keep, but these were truly the days of Dickensian child labor, and to be an 11-year-old agricultural laborer was probably much more pleasant than it was to be an 11-year-old (or younger) factory worker. With that in mind, it is almost surprising that 9-year-old Sarah has no listed occupation, but she and her sister Mary Ann, and perhaps even little Charles, likely helped their mother with the plaiting.

In 1851, the supposed father Charles is again found in his parents’ household, and is recorded as unmarried. Mary Ann the mother is again heading the household in White Notley, and she is recorded as a widow. This could simply mean that we have the wrong Charles VALENTINE. Or it could imply that there has been some sort of separation or divorce. Charles could have easily resumed his single status, but Mary Ann had a house full of children to account for. “Widow” would certainly have sounded much more respectable to the Victorian ear than “single” with five children.

Yes, five children. That is the second intriguing circumstance. Eight years after the birth of young Charles, another little bundle of joy—or perhaps it felt more like another mouth to feed—arrived. This one was named Harriet VALENTINE, and she is the only one of the family for whom I have been unable to find a baptismal record in the index.

Eight years is a substantial amount of time between children in the Victorian age, particularly when the others had all come one right after another. Mary Ann the mother would have been—and here I’m relying on her own baptismal certificate, not her impossibly slow aging on the census returns—37 years old. If we are going with the theory that the Charles VALENTINE, son of James and Sarah, is indeed her husband, it would seem that they were separated for quite a period of time, and then effected a temporary reconciliation. Either that or Mary Ann had a little—ahem—outside help. (A remarkable thing to find oneself saying about one’s own 3rd great-grandmother!)

The two boys are still living with their mother, and both working in agricultural labor. Harriet, I am glad to say, is apparently attending school; her occupation is “Scholar (first day).” I say apparently because I do not understand what that parenthetical “first day” means. I wonder if it perhaps refers to a Sunday school?

The other two girls, Sarah and my 2nd great-grandmother Mary Ann, are in that most fearful of Victorian institutions, the workhouse. The Braintree Union Workhouse in Bocking, to be exact. Although a workhouse was not quite as bleak a place as depicted in Oliver Twist, it wasn’t what you would call cozy, either. In fact, workhouses were designed to be as forbidding as possible so as to deter all but the most desperate. Therefore, Sarah and Mary Ann must have been pretty desperate. It does seem rather curious, though, to see the two of them in the workhouse when their mother and siblings were still alive and living together.

The former Braintree Union Workhouse, now St. Michael's Hospital.
Robert Edwards [CC BY-SA 2.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.0)], via Wikimedia Commons

They are both listed as straw plaiters, a skill they probably learned from their mother.

There is today a common misconception that a workhouse was like a prison in that a person was “put into” one, and was not allowed to come out. Instead, entering a workhouse was generally a choice. The workhouse system was the welfare system of the times: if an able-bodied poor person wanted relief, that person had to enter a workhouse. The idea was to prevent abuses of the system, to make sure that everyone who received relief did their part in working for it. And, although many who entered a workhouse did so for life, an inmate such as Sarah or Mary Ann could leave at almost any time, provided they gave (usually) three hours’ notice. However, the workhouse provided no assistance in starting a new life: no new clothes, no money, nothing but what had been brought in when a person entered.

I would love to get my hands on Mary Ann’s workhouse records, if they still exist. It is not known at this time when she entered the workhouse or when she left, only that she was there in the census year 1851. By the next census in 1861, she was again living with her mother in White Notley. Her mother’s occupation that year was very vague indeed: “Out door Labourer,” whatever that meant. Mary Ann the younger and her sister Harriet were the only two of the children still living at home, both of them silk winders. They likely worked at the silk mill either in Braintree or Bocking.

Within a few years, Mary Ann had met William UNDERWOOD, who would become my great-great-grandfather. They were married in 1865. Their marriage was recorded in the General Register Office in the Apr-May-Jun quarter, so they were probably married in the spring. I have yet to order a certificate from the GRO, so I cannot vouch for an actual date, but I should admit that the date 13 May 1865 has somehow mysteriously crept into my tree unsourced. I will be curious to discover how accurate the date turns out to be.

By 1871, they were settled in Hawkwell, with three children: Mary Ann, Sarah, and Charles. Fortunately, this third generation of Mary Ann was known—at least according to Aunt Elsie’s typescript—as Mary. Sarah is, of course, “Aunt Sadie,” and Charles, sadly, did not survive. Both the parents were recorded as farm laborers. All three children were born in Hawkwell, so the family must have been living there since at least 1866.

The cottage of the UNDERWOOD family appeared on the census just one entry after the location called “Clements Cottage,” so it would seem that they lived more or less near Clements Hall, one of the two local manors.

The years followed their ordinary course, and the census records reveal that the family moved at least twice in the first twenty years, but stayed in the same general area: 1881 found them in Hockley; 1891 in Hazeleigh. They lost little Charles, but had my great-grandfather Walter. The parents’ occupations remained some variation of agricultural laborer, while the children grew, attended school, took up occupations of their own, married, and moved away. By 1901 William and Mary Ann were empty nesters in Hazeleigh. William still was described as an agricultural laborer, though 68 years of age.

The last census in which they appear is 1911, still together after 46 years. They had moved to 92 Spital Rd in Maldon, and had become old age pensioners.

Note: A few of the questions that were raised in this post about Mary Ann Valentine's mother Mary Ann Reeve have been answered, although more have been raised. See Musings on Mary Ann Reeve for some updates.

Background Sources:

Clarke, Andrew. “Strawplaiting.” Web log post. The Hysterical Hystorian. The Foxearth and District Local History Society, 12 June 2005. Web. Accessed 1 Apr. 2011. <http://www.foxearth.org.uk/blog/2005/06/strawplaiting.html>.

“Hawkwell - From 1066!” Hawkwell History. Hawkwell Parish Council, 2012. Web. Accessed 22 Jan 2015. <http://www.hawkwellparishcouncil.gov.uk/history.asp>.

Higginbotham, Peter. The History of the Workhouse. Web. Accessed 20 Jan 2015. <http://www.workhouses.org.uk/>.

Warner, Sir Frank. The Silk Industry of the United Kingdom: Its Origin and Development. London: Drane’s Danegeld House, 1921. Internet Archive. MSN, 17 Mar 2010. Web. Accessed 22 Jan 2015. <https://archive.org/details/cu31924030128825>. Book contributor: Cornell University Library.

Genealogical Sources:

1841 census of England, Essex, Fairsted parish, Witham registration district, folio 7, page 8, household of James Valentine; digital images, Ancestry, Ancestry (www.ancestry.com : accessed 19 Mar 2011); citing PRO HO 107/343/6.

1841 census of England, Essex, White Notley parish, folio 19, page 9, household of Mary Valentine; digital images, Ancestry, Ancestry (www.ancestry.com : accessed 21 Oct 2007); citing PRO HO 107/343/12.

1851 census of England, Essex, Braintree Union Workhouse, Bocking parish, Braintree registration district, folio 330, page 12, Sarah Valentine; digital images, Ancestry, Ancestry (www.ancestry.com : accessed 19 Jan 2015); citing PRO HO 107/1785.

1851 census of England, Essex, Fairsted parish, Witham registration district, folio 377, page 13, household of James Valentine; digital images, Ancestry, Ancestry (www.ancestry.com : accessed 19 Mar 2011); citing PRO HO 107/1783.

1851 census of England, Essex, White Notley parish, village of White Notley, Braintree registration district, folio 426, page 10, household of Mary Ann Valentine; digital images, Ancestry, Ancestry (www.ancestry.com : accessed 8 Feb 2010); citing PRO HO 107/1785.

1861 census of England, Essex, White Notley parish, Braintree registration district, folio 157A, page 14, household of Mary Ann Valentine; digital images, Ancestry, Ancestry (www.ancestry.com : accessed 8 Feb 2010); citing PRO RG 9/1115.

1871 census of England, Essex, village of Hawkwell, ecclesiastical district of Rochester, folio 56, page 3-4, household (cottage) of William Underwood; digital images, Ancestry, Ancestry (www.ancestry.com : accessed 19 Mar 2007); citing PRO RG 10/1669.

1881 census of England, Essex, Hockley parish, rural sanitary district of Rochford, folio 100, page 7, household of William Underwood; digital images, Ancestry, Ancestry (www.ancestry.com : accessed 19 Mar 2007); citing PRO RG 11/1768.

1891 census of England, Essex, folio 66, page 4, household of William Underwood; digital images, Ancestry, Ancestry (www.ancestry.com : accessed 14 Mar 2007); citing PRO RG 12/1397.

1901 census of England, Essex, Hazeleigh parish, rural district of Maldon, parliamentary borough or division of South East Essex, folio 57, page 1, household of William Underwood; digital images, Ancestry, Ancestry (www.ancestry.com : accessed 8 Oct 2007); citing PRO RG 13/1690.

1911 census of England, Essex, 92 Spital Rd Maldon Essex, household of William Underwood; digital images, Ancestry, Ancestry (www.ancestry.com : accessed 19 Jan 2015); citing RG 78, RG 14 PN 10194, registration district (RD) 196, sub district (SD) 2, enumeration district (ED) 1, schedule number (SN) 160.

Ancestry, “England, Select Births and Christenings, 1538-1975,” database, Ancestry, Ancestry (www.ancestry.com : accessed 19 Jan 2015), entry for Charles Valentine’s 1836 baptism; citing FHL Film Number 560909.

Ancestry, “England, Select Births and Christenings, 1538-1975,” database, Ancestry, Ancestry (www.ancestry.com : accessed 19 Jan 2015), entry for Mary Ann Reeve’s 1807 baptism; citing Boreham, Essex, England, reference; FHL microfilm 1,702,171.

Ancestry, “England, Select Births and Christenings, 1538-1975,” database, Ancestry, Ancestry (www.ancestry.com : accessed 19 Jan 2015), entry for Mary Ann Valentine’s 1834 baptism; citing FHL Film Number 560909.

Ancestry, “England, Select Births and Christenings, 1538-1975,” database, Ancestry, Ancestry (www.ancestry.com : accessed 19 Jan 2015), entry for Sarah Valentine’s 1833 baptism; citing FHL Film Number 560909.

Ancestry, “England, Select Births and Christenings, 1538-1975,” database, Ancestry, Ancestry (www.ancestry.com : accessed 19 Jan 2015), entry for William Valentine’s 1830 baptism; citing FHL Film Number 1702171.

Crocker, Elsie. unpublished typescript.

Graham Hart, Ben Laurie, Camilla von Massenbach and David Mayall, “England & Wales, FreeBMD Marriage Index, 1837-1915,” database, Ancestry (www.ancestry.com : accessed 21 Jan 2015), entry for William Underwood’s Apr-May-Jun 1865 marriage; citing General Register Office.