Joining the Church

As children we played in the streets in the winter time when the weather permitted. Our streets were lit by gas lamps and every evening the lamplighter came by with a pilot light on a long pole to light the lamps. It was always a daily or nightly ritual to follow the lamplighter to the end of the street and watch him light all the lamps along the way.

Around the street lamp we played our games. There was hopscotch, five stones (jacks), skipping (jump the rope), French skipping, I was very good at that. We bowled hoops, played diabolo, this was a game where the player held two sticks, one in each hand, and a three foot cord was attached to the sticks. A large spool made for this purpose was kept spinning on the cord by quickly moving the hands alternately up and down, then at the right moment was tossed into the air and caught on the cord and kept spinning. This took a lot of practice and skill but was a lot of fun.

On winter days it was dark by three or four o'clock in the afternoon and we played long and hard under the street lamps. It took a lot of calling sometimes from our parents to get us to go home. To get instant attention we often heard our parents call out, "If you don't come in now the Mormons will get you". I didn't know what or who "Mormons" were but I always hurried home when I heard it.

One late wintry afternoon while playing in the street I noticed two well-dressed gentlemen stop at our house. They talked with Mother briefly then left. At the supper table that evening I was startled to hear Mother tell Dad that two Mormon missionaries had called and left some tracts. Dad asked to see the tracts but Mother said she had thrown them into the fire, adding, "We don't want that rubbish in the house". Dad said the next time they call, tell them to come when I am home and please save the tracts. The next time the missionaries called, Dad was home for it was later in the evening. We were all called in from play and we sat around the table in the kitchen which was the warmest room in the house. We were invited to kneel around the table in prayer. I can still remember the sweet spirit that filled the room. My father had lots of questions to ask the missionaries, things that had been bothering him for a long time such as "Why weren't there prophets upon the earth today? What happened to babies who died unbaptised?" The last baby mother had had died a few weeks after it was born and Mother had neglected to have it christened so the Minister had refused to bury it in consecrated ground. He said its soul had gone to Hell. The missionaries answered all of Dad's questions to his satisfaction. They told us the story of Joseph Smith's first vision. We listened in wonder and even then I knew it was true. I think my father was instantly converted. He told me years later that he knew the truth of what the missionaries had told us before they left the house. I also learned later that Father's oldest sister, Jessie, his brother Albert and three half sisters had already joined the Church and they were responsible for sending the missionaries to our house.

It took Dad a little while to overcome the tobacco habit but in about two months he was baptized by Elder Lorin A. Little. It was a year and a half later before my mother could decide to be baptized or consent to our baptism.

Long Live The King

Once every two or three years the King and Queen would pay a visit to Bristol. When this occurred, the streets were decorated with red, white and blue bunting and flags flying everywhere, especially along the route the Royal Party was to take. The streets were lined with policemen and soldiers with drawn bayonets to keep the crowds from getting too rowdy. Soldiers and sailors would march in their colored uniforms or ride their prancing horses, the sun making their swords glisten. It was a lot of pageantry but all a part of the England I knew and loved. Mother dressed us in our Sunday best and took us down town hours before the time of the parade. We would take our stand where she thought we could see the most. We got very tired and cross, being pushed and jostled by the crowd. But at last they came--first the horse guards with their prancing beautiful horses, a little afraid of the noise of the drums and bands and the shouting, then the grenadier guards with their tall fur hats called buzbies and scarlet coats, then the Welsh Fusaliers, and so on. There was a contingent of every part of the royal army and navy, each with their own colorful uniforms and their own bands. The Lord Mayor of Bristol in his robes of office leads the way. Then an awed hush comes over the crowd as the royal coach comes into view drawn by six beautiful white horses. Then, as it draws near, a cheer goes up from a thousand throats, "Long live the King, hoorah". It is a proud moment. What privilege to be a proud, free Englishman. My mother was always a true Royalist. My father was never disloyal but never cared for all this display.

May Festival

Mock Orange Blossom

We were going through a period of depression at this time and there was much poverty and distress all around us. Thousands of men were out of work. The Church of England had a soup kitchen and people would stand in line with their kettles and bowls every day. My father became unemployed but we were pretty hungry before my mother would permit us to stand in line for soup.

Hawthorne Blossoms

Each year about the middle of May our school held a May Festival. A queen was chosen according to scholarship ability and her behavior. The next who were acceptable became her maids of honor and there were twelve attendants. That year I was between the age of twelve and thirteen and was chosen as a maid of honor. I was so astonished, but so happy, when my name was called. I almost flew home to tell Mother the good news. She was happy for me and offered to make me a new dress. It had to be white with a yellow sash. I was to carry a basket of flowers and wear a crown of flowers. It so happened that Father was working in a little country town in Somerset called East Harptree at the time. When he heard my happy news he offered to send me all the flowers I needed. The spring flowers were all abloom in the fields--cowslips, primroses, daffodils, bluebells, mock orange blossoms, bridal wreath, large moon daises, and hawthorne blossoms called May. The day before the festival, a large box of these flowers arrived by special carrier and after Mother and I had selected all the flowers I needed, I took the rest to school to share with the other girls. The teachers were delighted. I think I was the most popular girl in school for a while, and I know I was the happiest.

Bridal Wreath

The festival was held outside if the weather permitted, and this day happened to be warm and sunny. Each class in the school braided the Maypole with colored ribbons, dancing in various rhythms to form different patterns they had practiced for weeks. There were also other dances like the Minuet and Sir Roger DeCoverly. At the crowning of the Queen the whole school sang, "We hail the Queen of May, on this our festal day, We hail thee, we hail thee, fair queen of merry May", etc.

Then I was called upon to recite a poem called:
 



Cowslip

THE MAY QUEEN

You must wake and call me early, 

Call me early mother dear,

For tomorrow is the happiest day

Of all the glad new year,

Of all the glad new year, Mother,

The maddest, merriest day.

For I'm to be Queen of the May, Mother.

I'm to be Queen of the May

 

There were 8 or 10 verses. I've forgotten who the author of this poem was. I felt like the girl in the poem. This was the maddest, merriest day, one that I cherished in my heart for many years.

Greenbank School

Someone gave me a beautiful fur muff and in the wintertime I wore it attached to a silk cord around my neck. It was so nice to keep my hands warm on a cold winter's day. I was coming home from school one day and I passed a poor little girl crying with the cold so I gave her my muff. When I got  home mother was very angry with me for giving it away.

School was just a couple of blocks from our home. It was called "Greenbank School". I first attended the infants department for boys and girls from 5-7 years, then we were promoted to an all-girls school in the next building. Over a high wall there was another building which  housed the boys. We were allowed to graduate at the age of 14 years.

According to Apostles Talmage and Widtsoe, our educational system was excellent and when we graduated at the age of 14 years, our educational status was equivalent to two years of college in the States. We stayed in the same class for one year with the same teacher who taught us all subjects. Then if we were able to pass our exams we were promoted to the next grade or standard as they were called. If we were inattentive or misbehaved, we were punished by the teacher or sent to the head mistress. She was a little woman, but oh, how she could wield a cane. We were all scared to death of her. I remember being late for school once and had to stand in line for a cut across the hand with that cane. Her name was Miss Owens and I can still visualize her funny little face.

The things I liked about school, of course, were the things I could do best. I was a good speller so I liked spelling bees. I liked mental arithmetic because I could quickly add sums in my head. (I can still add up my grocery list and have it totaled as quickly as the machine). I liked to be in plays. I had  a good memory then and memorized many parts of the Shakespeare plays and acted in lots of them. We made our own stage settings. I liked to read and memorize poetry.

One day when I was in the sixth standard (grade), the teacher informed us that members of the school board would be visiting us the next day and would probably be in our room about our poetry period. She thought it would be nice if we all learned a poem just in case we should be called upon. That night I learned a poem written by William Wordsworth as we had been studying his life and works. The poem was about a little neighbor girl who had died. The reason the poem appealed to me was because it bore my name. The next day, sure enough, the visitors came during our poetry period. There were three ladies and two men and Miss Owens, the head mistress, was with them. I was seated behind a girl who was much larger than I was so I felt quite sure that if I slumped down in my seat I wouldn't be noticed. I felt quite secure and being near a window I let my mind wander. I became aware of a man walking up the aisle--even then I wasn't alarmed. He passed by, then on his way back he stopped at my desk and looking directly at me said, "Would you like to come up to the front and recite for us?" I think my heart jumped right up into my throat and trembling, I arose and walked to the front of the class and recited my poem.

                                                                           HESTER

                                                      When maidens such as Hester die,
                                                      Their place ye may not well supply,
                                                      Though ye among a thousand try,
                                                      With vain endeavor

There were 8 or 10 verses and when I had finished, the gentleman said it was very good but he wondered why I had chosen that particular poem. Then he asked, "What is your name?" "Hester", I replied. A twinkle appeared in his eye. He put his hand into his pocket and pulled out half a crown. In those days that would buy me a pair of shoes. By the way, I was wearing a pair of my cousin's shoes which were two sizes too large for me, which was another reason I did not want to be noticed. I don't think the teacher ever quite forgave me for being chosen before her more favored or better dressed pupils.

HESTER (the full text)

When maidens such as Hester die,
Their place ye may not well supply,
Though ye among a thousand try,
With vain endeavor

A month or more hath she been dead,
Yet cannot I by force be led
To think upon the wormy bed,
And her together.

A springy motion in her gait,

A rising step, did indicate

Of pride and joy no common rate,

That flushed her spirit.

I know not by what name beside

I shall it call: -- if 'twas not pride,

It was a joy to that allied,

She did inherit.

Her parents held the Quaker rule,

Which doth the human feeling cool,

But she was train'd in Nature's school,

Nature had blest  her.

A waking eye, a prying mind,

A heart that stirs, is hard to bind,

A hawk's keen sight ye cannot blind,

Ye could not Hester.

My sprightly neighbour, gone before

To that unknown and silent shore,

Shall we not meet, as heretofore,

Some summer morning,

When from thy cheerful eyes a ray

Hath struck a bliss upon the day,

A bliss that would not go away,

A sweet fore-warning?

 

More Christmas Memories

            Father Christmas wasn't as jolly as the American Santa Claus--perhaps because he lived during a depression.  Most of my early Christmases were during the depression.  England was trying to recover from economic instability after the Boer War in Africa.  As children we enjoyed Christmas even though we didn't have much in the way of presents and toys. 

            A few weeks before Christmas, Mother would buy several rolls of tissue paper, and we'd spend many evenings making paper chains to hang across the front room.  They were hung from corner to corner and fastened to the ceiling in the center of the room with a large paper bell.  Small sprigs of holly were placed at the top of each picture in the room.  The red holly berries added more color to the already colorful chains.  A bunch of mistletoe was hung in the doorway of each room.  And if you were caught standing under the mistletoe by one of the opposite sex, he was supposed to kiss you--not your brothers of course. 

            The mistletoe was used by the ancient druids in many of their pagan rites.  It was considered by them to be a sacred plant to ward off sickness and the powers of evil.  They always hung bunches of it over the door at the front of every building.  The druids lived in Britain before the time of Christ.

            We never had a Christmas tree.  They were used in the stores in later years, but never in the houses.  However, there was the yule log.  A yule log was a thick branch or trunk of a tree which was brought into the house and placed in the fireplace to burn on Christmas Eve and throughout the Christmas day.  This was a tradition brought to England by the Romans.  They used large tree trunks in the huge fireplaces of the ancient castles.  

            Oh the excitement of Christmas, to hear the Church bells ringing from every steeple, and the many church groups going from street to street singing Christmas carols. It was a time to visit relatives and friends.  They were always invited in to taste a little Christmas pudding or fruit cake, and a drink of wine, cider or ale.  Lots of our relatives and friends were quite merry when they arrived at our place after having made quite a few visits on the way.  Of course, this changed when we joined the church.  Many of our acquaintances stopped calling when they couldn't be entertained in the traditional manner.

            Christmas puddings, however, continued to be a family tradition.  Most every family always made these puddings.  Mother always started buying ingredients, a little every week, for months before.  Then about the middle of November, Mother would require our help to take the seeds out of the large muscatel raisins, chop the candied peel, dice the figs, chop the suet, wash the currents, chop the nuts, and beat the eggs. 

            When all the ingredients were assembled they were put into a large pan and mixed thoroughly with a little wine or ale--according to how much mother could afford.  In later years she used a little cider.  Then we were all lined up to take a turn at stirring the mixture.  This was a tradition.  After all of us had taken a turn, Father would take the wooden spoon and finish the job.  He always dropped a six pence into the mix, and all of us hoped we would be lucky enough to find the six pence in our portion of pudding on Christmas day.

            The puddings were put into six or eight bowls, a piece of wax paper placed on the top, then a clean white cloth covered the top, which was tied around the rim of the bowl with string.  There were usually about six to eight of these, and they were steamed for six hours.  How good they smelled!

            Christmas was a time when we had our stomachs full.  Dad had a chicken coop at the top of the back garden.  He always had a few chickens, and in the winter time when they stopped laying eggs, they were food for the table.  Two of the plumpest were always saved for our Christmas dinner.  They were stuffed with delicious dressing. 

            Sometimes Mother would take us Christmas shopping with her. I remember one time when mother turned us loose in one of the downtown arcades--which were like present day malls--while she did some other business.  The small artificial Christmas trees were just coming into fashion, and the glittering Christmas ornaments that went with them.  How I wished we could afford one of those.  I picked up a beautiful blue glistening bell, and I suppose I squeezed it too hard.  To my dismay it shattered in my hands. The sales lady came hurrying over and chastised me severely--and threatened to call the police.  However, she let me escape.  I learned the lesson that Mother was always trying to impress upon us--never touch things that didn't belong to us.

            Our Christmas presents weren't too exciting.  If we got a very small surprise like a few crayons, or a paper puzzle, an orange, and a few sweets and nuts or an apple in our stocking, we felt we were lucky.  Even though some of our friends were blessed with expensive toys, I don't remember every worrying why.  We just accepted the fact that that's the way it was.

            There is perhaps one Christmas I remember more that any other.  I was older--about eleven years old.  It was the time I received my first store-bought doll.  Times were getting better and my older sister had started working for a doctor and his wife as a maid and a nanny.       

            As I stated before, my father had a small chicken coop at the back of the house.  All the chickens had been killed one by one except two.  These two were spared to provide our Christmas dinner.  It had been my duty through the year to feed and water the chickens, and these last two had become my special pets.  I used to dress one in a shawl and tie a handkerchief over her head and carry her around the yard.  She would squawk a little but would eventually settle down and enjoy being carried around.  She got so that when I opened the coop door she would run to meet me and croup down at my feet.  You can imagine how I felt when I knew that she was to be our Christmas dinner. 

            That Christmas morning we crept down the stairs to see what Father Christmas had brought us.  As I opened the parlor door, a bright fire burned in the grate, and my eyes wandered to the mantelpiece where my stocking was hung.  Above the stocking, on the shelf, was the most beautiful doll I had ever seen.  It had blond curls, deep blue staring eyes that never moved, and a cloth body.  I couldn't believe my eyes at first.  As I took her down and cuddled her in my arms, I was the happiest girl in the world.  I learned later that my sister had sacrificed some of her first wages to help buy the doll.  I was so happy that when we sat at dinner I forgot we were eating my pet hens.  

Perhaps she looked something like this.

Grandma's Christmas Pudding

Servings 6

Prep Time: 1 hour
Cook Time: 3 1/2 hours

Modernized version

1 cup grated carrot

1 cup grated apple

1 cup ground raisins

1 package diced dates

1 cup stale bread crumbs

1/2 cup glazed fruit mix, ground

1/2 cup butter or margarine

1 1/4 cups flour

1 teaspoon baking soda

1/2 teaspoon salt

1/2 teaspoon cloves

1/2 teaspoon nutmeg

1 teaspoon cinnamon

1/2 cup pecans

---

Place all ingredients in a large bowl and mix well. Batter will be very stiff. Spoon into a buttered quart jar, 3/4 full. Place lids and bands on jars. Set in a large kettle with boiling water 1/3 way up container. Bring water to boil again, turn to medium heat, steam for 3 1/2 hours. 4 times the batch makes 7 quart jars. 

Life in Eastville, Bristol England and the Infamous Christmas Doll

Shortly after this time (the previous post), we moved into the suburbs at the other side of town. It was called Eastville. There was a large park not far away called Eastville Park. It was a very delightful place to play in and to take walks. 

Eastville Park, Bristol



Eastville Park today

There was a large lake at the lower end with a waterfall and swans gliding gracefully around. In the summer evenings a band would entertain us.

There was an outlet at the lower end of the park and by following a narrow path through a glade and by another waterfall we would come to "Snuff Mills", then through a meadow to "Frenchay Common". It was a long walk for little feet but when we grew older it became our favorite rendezvous.

Snuff Mills Restored

Up the hill from the park, past Farmer Owen's cow pasture, was an old rustic church and every evening just at dark the chimes from the old belfry would ring out across the still air, "Now the Day is Over".





It was like a beautiful benediction, especially if we were passing after a quiet walk through the country lanes. I used to feel such a sweet sense of peace fill my soul, as though in the words of the poet, "God's in His heaven, all's right with the world". 

Church of the Holy Trinity built in 1857. This may or may  not be the church mentioned but it is in the area.

At this time, England was experiencing a bad depression and our Christmases were very meager. I well remember my first doll. I thought it was the most beautiful doll I had ever seen. It had blond curls, deep blue staring eyes that never moved, and a cloth body. Conditions were beginning to improve so we were each given the choice of one good toy.



The night after Christmas we were left to entertain ourselves while Mother and Dad went to visit some friends. We all sat around the open fire playing games and watching the flames dance up and down. This occupation was a little bit tame for my brother Herbert so he reached for the long handled toasting fork which always hung by the fireplace and with which we toasted our bread before the coals. He stuck the fork into a rubber toy which belonged to the baby of the family, rubbing it in the soot at the back of the chimney and daubing it into our faces. Finally he tired of this sport and spying my doll sitting on a chair, he stuck the fork onto the back of her and held her for a brief moment in front of the flames just to tease me. What he didn't realize was that the face was made of wax and began to melt. He was horrified when he saw what he had done and I was broken-hearted. Just then our parents came home and poor Herbert got his desserts. I could tell many stories like this but there isn't room or time to write them.


"Now the Day is Over" Full Text



1 Now the day is over,
Night is drawing nigh,
Shadows of the evening
Steal across the sky.

2 Now the darkness gathers,
Stars begin to peep;
Birds, and beasts, and flowers
Soon will be asleep.

3 Jesus, give the weary
Calm and sweet repose;
With Thy tenderest blessing
May our eyelids close.

4 Grant to little children
Visions bright of Thee;
Guard the sailors, tossing
On the deep blue sea.

5 Comfort every sufferer
Watching late in pain;
Those who plan some evil
From their sins restrain.

6 Through the long night-watches,
May Thine angels spread
Their white wings above me,
Watching round my bed.

7 When the morning wakens,
Then may I arise
Pure, and fresh, and sinless
In Thy holy eyes.

8 Glory to the Father,
Glory to the Son,
And to Thee, blest Spirit,
Whilst all ages run.

Amen.

 

My Earliest Recollection

My earliest recollection is of living in a little cul-de-sac under Park Street in the center of the city. In England in the winter time, it gets dark about 3:00 in the afternoon and sometimes on stormy days it is dark all day long. One afternoon about five o'clock, I was playing  in the street and a drizzly rain was falling. I happened to look toward the underpass and in the semidarkness I saw a dark, hooded figure coming toward me. I thought of the terrifying stories of bogey men I had heard and I fled toward the house in a panic. Mother was slow to open the door upon which I was frantically beating with my fists. When at last she opened it, I fell in almost faint with fear. This neighborhood was very rough. People used to get drunk and fight in the streets.

There was an old cathedral close by (Bristol Cathedral), built about the ninth century. The bells were tolled every night. I used to lie in bed and listen to their mournful sound and I felt so sad and afraid. I was afraid of the dark, of people, of thunder and lightning. In fact, I was afraid of everything.

One evening Mother and Dad were going out so they had my sister, Annie, take me with her to a Christian Endeavor class. This was an auxiliary of the Church of England. Annie used to attend this class once a week. I remember sitting in a room with quite a number of older children. The teacher was a sweet, gentle lady with a soft voice. She took me upon her lap while she told the story of the Good Shepherd, who left the ninety and nine to search for the sheep that was lost. She said that the Good Shepherd was Jesus Christ and that he really cared for us and if we ever felt lost or lonely we could pray to Him and He would hear us. She spoke with such a quiet conviction that I believed her and the seed of faith was planted in my childish heart that night that has continued to grow through the years.