An Art Journey Into Family History Part 10

The Children of Ina & Jasper Burnett

Wilfred Jasper Burnett 1915-2007 (Top Left)

When Wilf finished high school in Fort Frances, he returned to New Brunswick and worked on his Aunt Stella’s dairy farm while learning to fly. He joined the New Brunswick Dragoons. In 1937 he worked his passage to England and joined the RAF (Royal Air Force).

Wilf went on to have a distinguished military career in the RAF. During the war he flew many clandestine sorties into France and Germany. After the war, he flew flying boats with BOAC to the Far East and on one occasion he was forced to divert to Hainan Island, then in Communist hands, where he found a supply of abandoned American fuel. He then spent three days transferring fuel into the aircraft using a felt hat as a filter and a saucepan. In 1956 he led his squadron into action during the Suez Canal crisis against targets in Egypt.

Retiring in 1968 with the rank of Air Commodore, during the course of his career he was awarded the DSO. OBE, DFC, AFC 7 CdeG(P) (Distinguished Service Order, Order of the British Empire, Distinguished Flying Cross, Air Force Cross, Croix de Guerre with Palm(The French Flying Cross).

Wilf married his wife Elona (Joy) in 1939 and they had two children, David and Ilona.

Willis Gordon Burnett 1918 - 1984 (Bottom right) My Dad

Willis joined the RCAF (Royal Canadian Air Force) during the second world war. A born pilot, his love of flying led him to become a well known and respected pioneer in Canadian north bush flying after the war and until his retirement in 1980.

A “country boy” at heart, in another era, my dad might have been a cowboy riding the range on a horse he loved with a guitar strapped to the saddle! But he was born to ride a horse of a different type! His love affair with planes started in the RCAF and he lived and breathed to fly any time, anywhere, to any place. It earned him the nickname “Spike”!

The people he met, the places he went and the “roughness” of the north from Baffin Island to Yellowknife in the North West Territories lured him back again and again. In the course of his career, he flew close to 30,000 miles accident free over some of the roughest, wildest and desolate northern terrain this planet has to offer. It didn’t matter whether the plane was on skis, wheels or floats.. he flew it with a grin on his face and a smile in his heart.

My Dad was a great storyteller. When we were kids, he would thrill us all with his "tales of the north" that would leaving us all in stitches... laughing... and in wonder and awe at some of the places in the far north he would describe. His many photographs and movies of the artic tundra were spectactular.

My Dad loved cold weather. He is the only person I know who would willingly spend a summer on an iceberg near Greenland... which he did... and his "excuse"... "too darn hot in the summer south of 60" ... meaning the 60th parallel on the map! The U.S./Canadian border is on the 49th parallel, so that gives you an idea of just how high up into northern Canada he meant!

My Dad became quite ill in 1980. I didn't know how ill he was until I stepped off the plane from Germany. I was shocked. He had lost so much weight, he had literally shrunk. If my mother and sister had not been with him, I would have barely recognized him.

He battled courageously with his health over the next few years. Diabetes and heart problems plagued him but he hung on against all odds. The loss of one of his legs ended any hope of ever flying again. We thought at the time it would kill him. But he stayed around because he had a purpose to fulfil.

In August 1983, my sister's husband David died unexpectedly of a cerebral hemmorage at age 34. My two nieces were mere babes at the time. Our family was devastated by the loss and especially my dad who was very fond of David (they were like two peas in a pod).

After Dave's death, my dad's health improved a great deal. The following spring, just before Easter, he and my Mom went to Hawaii on vacation... something they had always wanted to do.

That year, my sister had Easter dinner at her house. My Dad played with his grandkids as my mom, sister and I bustled about the kitchen getting dinner ready. I don't remember exactly what was said but whatever it was, it was funny! My sister laughed and it was the first laugh that rang true since David had died. I am sure that Dad heard it.

During dinner, I noticed my Dad watching her but didn't think anything of it at the time. He really needed to know that she was going to be okay. Dad was very protective of his kids, especially us girls. Today, I know that her laugh gave him the reassurance he wanted. It was going to take time, but she'd make it.

A few days later, my Dad and brother showed up at my house unexpectedly. It was a beautiful spring day and we sat outside chatting and enjoying the weather. It was a wonderful visit. As my dad and brother left, the thought crossed my mind that it was the last time I would see my dad. It scared me silly. I quickly erased it from my mind!

Two days later, my dad had a heart attack. I rushed to my Mom's when I heard the news just as the paramedics were working on him. My dad swore that he would never go into the hosptial again. I went down to my parent's bedroom to tell the paramedics not to say anything about transporting him to the hospital. As I poked my head into the room, I saw that the heart monitor was still registering a heartbeat. I was about to give the paramedics the message when one of them said "We'll have to transport him over to the hospital... we can't do much more here." In that moment, my Dad died. The heart monitor went flat. He kept his word. A value he treasured and had instilled in all of us kids from the time we were knee high to grasshoppers.

Spike married my mother Erma and together they had three children, Sharon, Janis and Bob.

Guy Millard Burnett 1917 – 1999

Following high school, Guy decided to take up the trade of welding. A master craftsman, my Uncle Guy could build anything he set his mind to! He left for the U.S. in the latter part of the 1930’s and worked in Minnesota and Virginia before taking a job with Westinghouse Electric in Pennsylvania. He worked with Westinghouse for nearly forty years before retiring in 1980. After his retirement he moved to Harbeson, Delaware to be much nearer to the coast.

A warm, generous and quiet man with a wry, delightful sense of humour, Guy, like his brothers, loved the outdoors. A “farmer” at heart, his lush garden attested to his love of gardening. His green thumb produced tomatoes the size of softballs. He took great pleasure in creating and fixing “stuff”. He had every tool and gadget in his workshop you can imagine. Guy loved to go fishing. Many an early morning would find him tossing his rods and tackle in his “fishin’ jalopy’ heading for one of his favourite fishing spots!

I didn’t meet my uncle Guy until I lived in North Carolina. But I am so glad I did! I just loved him to bits… he reminded me of my Dad who died a few short years after I returned from Germany. It was amazing to me just how similar they were in so many ways… from the expressions they used to the way they threw their heads when they laughed.

One of my fondest memories of my uncle was a visit, with my aunt, to North Carolina for Christmas. As a special treat, I made him one of my famous B-52 cakes and told him the story about how it came to be named “B-52”.

One night, during the 60’s, my Dad had come to visit me while I was working for the summer in Labrador City, Newfoundland. We went out for a drink at the local bar to have a bite to eat and get caught up.

It didn’t take long before the conversation revolved around flying and talking airplanes (my father’s favourite subject). Somehow we got on the subject of B-52 bombers and laughed that there was even a “shooter” named a B-52.

Now, my Dad had a sweet tooth. He loved chocolate and dessert! I laughingly said that putting the liquor in a B-52 shooter into a cake would make one heck of a tasty dessert. Oh my daddy loved that idea as we talked about it and the Burnett B-52 cake recipe was born!

So how do you make a B-52 cake? It’s pretty easy. You make three layers… one chocolate, one orange and one vanilla. Once it is baked, you soak the chocolate layer with Kailua, the orange layer with Grand Marnier and the vanilla layer with Bailey’s Irish Cream. You let it sit for a day and then you put it all together with Whipped Cream. Totally sinful… yummy and delicious. When my Mom and Dad came for a visit while I was living in Germany, I made one for them. My Dad thought it was the best darn cake he had ever tasted.

Uncle Guy loved the story and could hardly wait to have a piece after dinner on Christmas Eve. His eyes rolled in delight as he bit into the first piece and he smacked his lips in true appreciation at the last bite.

Christmas morning arrived. I had prepared a wonderful Christmas morning breakfast (enough for an army) with all sorts of wonderful goodies… Christmas fruit bread, strawberry waffles with whipped cream, scones with Devonshire Crème to name just a few. I asked Uncle Guy what he would like for breakfast.

He looked at all the goodies on the table. “Honey that all looks so delicious,” he began. “But you know what I want most? More of that B-52 cake!”

My aunt rolled her eyes in amusement. My husband laughed and said “Told ya so!” and I served him cake!

He talked about that cake for years after.

Unfortunately he was diagnosed with bone cancer in 1998.On our last visit to see him just before he died, I sat down next to his bed for a chat with him. He tired easily and it was an effort for him to have a conversation.

We talked for a few moments and then he took my hand and said: “Honey, I was so touched when you made that B-52 cake for me. I felt so special that you would do that for me. When we (meaning his siblings) were growing up, we missed out on a lot of things. We didn’t have a mom who baked us birthday cakes or made us something special for Christmas. Baking that cake just for me made me feel really special. It was one of the kindest and most thoughtful gifts I have ever received. I love you sweetie.” Needless to say, it was a very touching moment for me and a lovely memory of my uncle's last words to me.

A few weeks ago, hubby and I had seats at a week long curling tournament. Sitting in front of us was a man who reminded me of my uncle. Even hubby noticed it.

Over the next couple of days we got to know him. He and his wife were visiting in Victoria from Prince Edward Island to cheer on their team during the tournament.

Having a conversation with him was downright déjà vu! He looked, dressed, talked and had the same mannerisms as my uncle Guy. It was a fun couple of days chatting back and forth with this lovely couple. My aunt Flo would have loved hearing that story! She missed her brothers so much after they all died.

Guy and his wife Lucille had three children, Carole, Linda and Darlene.

Florence Commela Burnett (Clendinneng, Fries) 1921 - 2008

Bright, attractive and personable, Florence worked for Northern Electric, first in Saint John, N.B. and later in Moncton, N.B. and Montreal, Quebec. In 1949, Florence married Stephen Henry Clendinneng, ten years her senior. They had two children, Debbie and Joni. In the 50’s they moved to Montreal, Quebec. Their two girls were still quite young when tragedy struck. Steve was diagnosed with a brain tumour and for much of their marriage was in a coma and on life support. Steve died in 1970.

Florence re-married and moved to the U.S.. She and her husband Jan lived in Walnut, Creek, California for over 30 years. After Jan’s unexpected death a few years ago, Florence decided to remain in Walnut Creek. All her friends were there, she was now in her 80’s and it was warmer there in the winter than eastern Canada where her girls now live!

“The thought of snow and those cold eastern winters just makes me cringe!” she said. “I’m staying put right here. So there!” Being fond of the warmer winter weather on the Pacific west coast, she wasn’t about to get any argument from me. I understood completely.

James Henry Burnett 1922 – 1990

Spike and Jim, both fond of the outdoors, often hired on as “fishing and hunting guides” at their Uncle Charlie’s fishing resort in Spring Lake before and after the war.

Jim, like his two elder brothers, joined the RCAF during world war two and served as an air gunner in Europe.

When he returned to Fort Frances after the war, he lived with his brother Spike and his wife Erma and began building towards what was to become a highly successful masonry business. He married his first wife, Olive and had two children, Jay and Kathy.

I was quite little when my uncle Jim married but I remember it to this day. I trailed around behind my uncle like a puppy dog when I was small. Wherever he went, I was right behind him. I adored him. He probably secretly thought I was a little pest (although he vehemently denied it when I was older and asked him!)

I was very upset the day he got married at my parent’s home. I clearly remember them leaving the house after their wedding. I was so upset. How could he possibly leave me for THAT woman! How dare she take my uncle away from me! According to my mother, I cried myself to sleep that night. Once I got to know my new aunt though, I liked her. Eventually I forgave her. LOL

When Jim retired in 1982, he passed his business on to his son Jay. Blessed with the Burnett charm, Jim was a well liked, community minded man who loved sports. Fond of golf, fishing, houseboating and curling, he died suddenly in 1990… a few hours after competing in a curling match.

Ina Bertha Burnett (Williams, Britton)

Ina adored “adventures”. One of Flo’s delightful memories of their adventures together occurred when they were still teenagers.

“Now you girls be home on time tonight”, said Aunt Belle as Ina and Flo left for “town’. Ina just laughed. She had no intention of coming home so early. Off they went for an evening “adventure” in town. It was after midnight when they arrived home. The door was locked! After a few minutes of wondering what to do, they went to the back of the house. Hiking up their dresses, they took off their high heels and climbed through the wood shed window into the kitchen. Stifling giggles, they crept up the stairs, past Aunt Belle’s bedroom. Her door was cracked open… just enough to see them when they came in! When they peeked through the opening, there was Aunt Belle sound asleep in her chair! When asked the next morning when they got home, Ina told a big fib. Aunt Belle… well she never did figure out how they got in the house that night.

Ina married Reginald Harry Williams in 1947 and had three children, Laurie, Greg and Ritchie. She and Reg eventually divorced and Ina remarried Douglas Britton in 1962.

Ina was naturally artistic and creative all of her life. She was a born interior decorator and loved to cook and sew. Many a day would find her huddled over her sewing machine creating some of her latest clothing designs.

Ina died prematurely and unexpectedly in April 1981, I remember it well… I was visiting with my Aunt Flo in Walnut Creek when the call came. Flo was just devastated by the loss of her sister. Much later, she would remark just how grateful she was that I was there at the time. The Universe, in its imminent wisdom, had ensured that she had “family” by her side to soothe and comfort her in her loss.

Next week, will mark the last story in this series. Be sure to drop by and hear the "rest of the story" as I travel to Walnut Creek to deliver my aunt's copy of our "hot off the press" family book.

Have a wonderful week…

Sharon

An Art Journey Into Family History Part 9

It feels like forever since I last posted! Unfortunately, there was a battle of the wills between me and the sciatic nerve in one of my legs … and the sciatica won! Sitting at the computer for anymore than ten minutes was excruciating… so writing was out for the time being.

My cousin Kathy came to visit a few weeks ago and we had a wonderful time! What fun it was to discover how much we have in common. It was interesting talking about our families and experiences growing up. It was fun discovering our mutual interest in “artsy fartsy” stuff and finding out that we have the same type of quirky humour that tickles our funny bones!

Kathy put on a clever disguise to arrive in at the Victoria airport. A long black wig with reddish highlights, sunglasses, lace tights under a rather short dress and the piece de resistance… a nose ring! Of course I didn’t recognize her.

When hubby saw “this woman” come through the security gate door, he laughed and said: “Get a load of that! You’d think that middle aged women would know they are rather past the nose ring stage…damn she looks like a hooker ten years past her prime!”

What a hoot it was when this same woman sauntered over close behind us and just stood there. Hubby just raised his eyebrows and gave me this rather comical sideways look.

Well, guess what? She was listening to us! Kathy thought it was me… but she needed to hear my voice to be sure. We hadn’t seen each other since we were little kids but have talked on the phone a number of times. She waited and waited. Finally I said something to hubby about I wasn’t sure whether I would recognize her or not.

This woman tapped me on the shoulder, leaned over towards me and said: “Are you waiting for someone named Kathy?”

A little taken aback, I said: “Well as a matter of fact, yes, I am.”

She took off her sunglasses and I got it! She has the “Burnett” eyes. I would have recognized her immediately had she not hidden behind the dark glasses.

We all roared with laughter… made even funnier when hubby told her what he had said when he first spotted her!

It turns out this was something she had always wanted to do for a good laugh but never had had the opportunity. She told her brother (whom I know quite well) about what she wanted to do and he told her I had a great sense of humour and would get a big kick out of it. He was right… I did.

It was a great start to a wonderful couple of days together getting to know each other as adults. For two people who are not “chatty Cathy’s”, we talked up a storm the whole time she was here. We have promised each other that we’ll get together again soon!

She had brought her copy of my book, “Scraps of Memories, Slices of Life” and wanted me to autograph it! I was quite touched. Just before she left I wrote this dedication “To Kathy, Family by blood, Cousins by birth, Friends by choice, Love Sharon”

That’s exactly how I felt as I watched her turn and wave goodbye at the airport on the day she left. Not only had I got to know my cousin but I had found a friend as well. It doesn’t get any better than that…!

On to this week’s “installment“ from “Scraps of Memories, Slices of Life…

When my great-grandmother arrived back in New Brunswick in the fall of 1929 with my aunt Flo who was now 7 and my aunt Ina, now 4, she was at a loss. Who could she talk to about finding these young girls a good home where they would be loved and cared for?

The details are rather sketchy as to whom she talked to or approached at first. Aunt Flo was too young to remember what transpired during this time. She remembered meeting some of her aunts from the Burnett side of the family. She was especially fond of her Aunt Ruth who was married to her father’s brother Frank.

Most of Frank and Ruth’s children were much older than Florence and Ina. But Flo felt happy being around all these “new” relatives. Being surrounded by people always gave her a sense of comfort and security. She hated being alone when she was a child and hated it even more as an adult!

Aunt Flo recalled how the memory that stuck the most in her mind was feeling very overwhelmed by shyness when meeting all of these cousins, aunts, uncles and other relatives for the first time. She had a very high need to feel accepted and be part of the group.

As personable as my aunt Flo was, she often worried whether people would like her. Most people just adored her. She was a fun, kind person to be around, When her girls were teenagers, Flo’s house was filled with all the neighbourhood kids. They loved to come her house to chat and get one of her famous hugs. She gave the best hugs in the whole wide world!

She recalled meeting her Aunt Belle and Uncle Goldie for the first time. Shortly after returning from Ontario, Commela and the two girls went by train to St. John’s for a visit to meet her mother’s brother Goldie and his wife Belle.

Belle and Goldie

Belle Nugent was a Kansas gal with a wonderful sense of fun! The daughter of John Green McKaughan and Emma Reid, she was born in Edgerton Kansas on August 16, 1894.

Belle came from a large family of ten children; six sisters Chloe, Freda, Liddie, Dora, Mildred and Henrietta and three brothers, Albert, Roy and Robert.

She first met Goldie when he was studing for his medical degree at the Unviersity of Kansas. Goldie received his medical degree from the University of Oklahoma in 1914 and opened a practice in Kansas.

Belle married Goldie Nugent, Ina Burnett’s only surviving family member, in August of 1916 when she was 22. Shortly after their marriage, they moved to Fredericton where Goldie opened up a medical practice. Although I found no indication that Goldie took over his father’s medical practice (Dr. John had died in January of 1916), in all likelihood he probably inherited some of Dr. John’s patients when he returned to Fredericton.

Goldie soon had a thriving medical practice. A few years later, in addition to his practice, he became the coroner for Queen’s County and began teaching at the school of nursing.

After fourteen years of marriage, Belle and Goldie still had no children. Whether this was by choice or not is unknown. Belle was a strongwilled, ambitious woman, very active in the community. Goldie, although active in the community, was a quiet, reflective and shy man who would rather go fishing than spend time gladhanding his way around town. He needn’t have worried… he had Belle who was good at doing that for him in her own gracious way.

At the time of Commela and the girls visit, Belle was 35 and Goldie was ten years her senior. Quickly grasping the gravity of Commela’s concerns for the future welfare of the girls, they immediately offered to give both of the girls a home. They were most willing to adopt both girls as their own and make a warm, loving home for them. They would make the necessary arrangements. But first, they needed to do some re-arranging and renovations in their home to accommodate their new, small family. Belle was just thrilled that she would now have some daughters to fuss over!

Belle on a broncing horse whopping it up! When I was a kid, I thought this horse was alive! But alas, it is not. The horse is stuffed and attached to the railing. What a hoot! Yep, Rodeo Queen indeed...

Commela returned to Fredericton with a sense of real relief and gratefulness in her heart. She had found a good home for “her girls”. Belle was a kind, outgoing woman with a wonderful sense of humour and a streak of the “dare devil” who would be good to her granddaughters. She was young and vibrant. She would be able to offer the girls many things as they grew older that Commela could not. Stability, education, a young person’s point of view and a good home being among the most important.

Once Belle and Goldie had all the arrangements made, they sent for the girls. Commela would accompany them to St. John, stay for a few days and then return to Fredericton.

Young Ina was excited. She really liked her aunt Belle and this would be a wonderful adventure. She could hardly wait and chatted incessantly about going to live with her aunt Belle in the big city.

Florence, on the other hand, was very quiet. The thought of leaving her grandmother filled her with terror. She had already lost her mother and now her grandmother? She remembered feeling so helpless. Her grandmother was going to give her away. Didn’t she love her anymore? She had tried to be so good ever since grandpa had died. She felt confused and hurt. She recalled how her grandmother had asked if she wasn’t feeling well on that trip to St. John’s. Upon reflection, she later remarked that she must have been unusually quiet for her grandmother to wonder if she was ill.

Aunt Flo couldn’t remember how long they were there before the day came when her grandmother was to go back to Fredericton. She did recall telling Ina she didn’t want to stay with aunt Belle and Ina pleading that she change her mind and stay with her there.

“Of course, gramma didn’t know this is how I felt. I hadn’t said anything and Ina, for once, didn’t snitch on me. It might have been easier if she had.” Aunt Flo recalled. “But as the day neared when gramma was to go back to Fredericton, I remember feeling very panicked I must have put up a pretty good fuss of some sort. All I remember is Gramma with tears in her eyes and in the end, she took me back with her to Fredericton. Since my mother had died, Gramma had become my mother and I remember feeling terrified to lose my mother again.”

Over the next few years, Florence and Ina visited each other often. Florence really looked forward to going to St. John’s and getting together with her sister and aunt Belle.
They had fun together and it created a bond between the three of them that lasted though their lifetimes.

When both of the girls married, Belle became a “gramma” to their children. She loved every minute of it! She enjoyed her “grandchildren” and enjoyed having them around.

Both girls moved away from St. John’s with their husbands. But the girls would often “go home” for a couple of weeks each summer. My cousin Laurie recently recalled, “They would shoo us kids outside to play in the backyard of gramma’s house and the three of them would sit at the kitchen table drinking coffee and talk, talk, talk! They never seemed to talk themselves out”, she said with a smile in her voice.

When Florence was 12, her beloved grandmother, Commela Grant Burnett died. Florence was devastated. Where would she go now?

For the next couple of years, she lived with her aunt Ruth and uncle Frank. “They were always nice and very kind to me.” she said. “But I never got over the feeling that I was being “taken in”. It certainly wasn’t anything that they ever said or did. I just missed my grandmother so much. I felt like I had been abandoned by everyone who loved me and I was the third wheel at the dinner table.”

When Florence finished school, she went to live with her Aunt Belle, Uncle Goldie and sister. She decided to attend secretarial school so she could get out on her own as soon as she could.

The next couple of years were good years for both of the girls. They had many fun times together and managed to get into all sorts of “mischief”. Aunt Belle was always “game” for anything fun and they enjoyed each other’s company immensely.

Flo recalled. “Aunt Belle was somewhat old fashioned. But then again, most teenagers think their parents are old fuddy duds. Ina and I did a lot of crazy, fun things together that aunt Belle didn't approve of. See honey, some things don’t change over the years after all.” she said with a chuckle in her voice "Kids still think their parents are fuddy duds!"

See you next week,

Cheers,

Sharon

An Art Journey Into Family History - Part 8

James Willis…

Sometime in the early 1920’s, James Willis, Jasper’s brother and my great-grandparent’s youngest son decided to strike it out on his own. He left the family farm in New Hampshire and headed “west” to Fort Frances, Ontario. There he found work as a hotel clerk in one of his Uncle Charlie’s (my great grandfather’s youngest brother) hotels.

Not much is known about young Willis today. I remember my Dad talking about his uncle Willis when I was a child. He remembered him quite vividly. Being his uncle’s namesake appeared to make a big impression on my dad as a young boy. He adored his uncle and trailed after him wherever he went.

The family ring, given to my Dad when he was in his teens, originated with his Uncle Willis. When my Dad died, the ring passed to my brother Bob (another Robert in the family!). When Bob was tragically killed in an industrial accident in 1992, the ring was eventually given to my cousin Jay (another James in the family!)

Once again, I didn’t pay as close attention to the family stories that my Dad told when I was young as I would have later on in life.

As the tragic event that was to enfold in the spring of 1926 would show, it is a high probability that once on his own, Willis took a cue from his brother Jasper’s behaviour as a young, unattached male. A good looking young man, he enjoyed his new found freedom, was sought after by all the young ladies in town and did his share of partying with the “boys”!

In April of 1926, news reached Commela and Henry that their youngest son was dead. He died of a gunshot wound. Family lore has it that Willis was shot by an irate husband while lying in the arms of his wife (and Willis' mistress).

Even though I was able to confirm his death from a gunshot wound (I found his death certificate that noted his cause of death in one of my searches), I did not find any newspaper accounts (they are not available to the public) to confirm the shooting. Being a small town then (and now), it would have created quite a stir.

I do remember my maternal grandmother and one of my aunts talking about it when I was quite young. That long ago memory was triggered when I found Willis' death certificate! It is a very vague memory but yet distinct... both at the same time.

This shooting "affair" was likely a sensational story when it occured. I can just imagine that it had the tongues of the town's finest matrons wagging furiously for weeks!

Old family postcards, birth and death certificates, mementos

Leaving New Hampshire…

In the late spring of 1926 when school let out for the summer, the Burnett family left New Hampshire. Looking for a “fresh start”, they headed “west” to Ontario.

Charles Medford Burnett was my great grandfather’s youngest brother. Uncle Charlie (as he was known to my aunt and her siblings) was sixteen years younger than my great grandfather. Charlie had done very well for himself financially over the years. In addition to the hotels and resort lodge that he owned at Spring Lake, Ontario, he also owned a diary farm just outside Fort Frances, Ontario.

Aunt Flo remembered the trip “west” vividly.

“Gramma and Grandpa took us little ones on the train to Fort Frances. Ina was just a toddler at the time and I remember how much attention she received from the passengers on the train. She was so cute and I must admit I was rather jealous that people paid so much attention to her!

Jimmy and I amused ourselves as best we could on the long trip. But I sure missed my big brothers. I wasn’t used to them not being around and of course, as a little girl, I tagged after them like a puppy dog wherever they went. They were my big brothers and I adored them.

My dad drove with the boys (Wilfred, Guy and Willis) across the country. It must have taken at least a week or more for them to get there. The cars in those days didn’t go very fast and the roads weren’t like they are today.

I think I had just turned five when we left so I don’t really remember arriving in Fort Frances. I just remember how happy I was to see my brothers again.”

At Uncle Charlie's dairy farm

Grandparents Commela and Henry

Grandchildren Ina, Jimmy and Florence

School Days … Moving to Town

“I don’t remember much about that first summer in Fort Frances”, she continued, “I think we all stayed on the farm. I do remember that Gramma was so sad and I didn’t know why. I just remember trying really hard to be good so she wouldn’t be sad anymore.”

As the new school year approached, the eldest boys moved “into town” to go to school.

“They lived with Uncle Charlie and Aunt Maude.” Flo said. “They didn’t have any children of their own. They had adopted their daughter Gertrude, but I don’t know when. “

I was curious. “Where was your Dad?” I asked.

“I don’t really know.” she said. “I know he was in the Fort but I don’t think he lived with the boys. I just remember him coming out to the farm to see us little ones and how upset Gramma would get.”

“I think he must have been up to all his old tricks.” she continued, “because I remember Gramma telling him he couldn’t come to see us if he had been drinking or was with a woman.”

Once he showed up with some woman and she actually brought me a dress. It was covered all over in red cherries. It was a beautiful dress and I can still see it in my mind today. But we never saw her again after that… at least not that I can recall.”

“After my mother died, I think my dad just gave up.” she said sadly. “At first, Gramma and he seemed to get along but as time wore on, they would get into some pretty wicked arguments with each other. If I remember correctly he worked in one of uncle Charlie’s hotels but was pretty unreliable. After awhile, when Gramma saw him coming, she would shoo us off outside or send us to our bedroom.”

“The highlight of our week was always those days when my brothers came to visit us on the farm. I would get so excited when I saw them coming and I would be so sad when they went back to town. I just wanted to go back to town with them.”

“I remember the day that Gramma told me that soon I would be big enough to go to school after the summer and could move into town. I was so excited. I thought I was going to be able to be with the boys all the time. Little did I know that I was going to have to stay someplace else.”

“When it was time for me to start school, Gramma found a lady in town who would take me in during the week. I remember being so scared. I didn’t know this lady and when your Dad came to get me to bring me there, I just cried and cried. I didn’t want to leave Gramma and go live with a stranger. Your Dad tried so hard to get me to stop crying. He told me that this was a nice lady and I would get to see my brothers all the time now. But I was so miserable. After he left me there, I just cried myself to sleep that night.”

The following summer, in July of 1929, my great grandfather Henry dropped dead of a heart attack while working on the farm one day. He was 70 years old.

My great grandmother was devastated. Whatever would she do now?

Following her husband’s burial, she made the heart wrenching decision to leave my youngest uncle, Jimmy, with Uncle Charlie, Aunt Maude and the boys and return to New Brunswick. There she could live with her daughter Stella while she tried to find someone to take care of the two girls.

She was all worn out. She did not want to die suddenly, leaving these young children to fend for themselves. She had to find a good home for them even if it was the last thing she did on this earth. She would not leave them motherless again!

With a heavy, grieving heart, she gathered the children's belongings together, said goodbye to the boys and boarded the train for "down east" with the two young girls, Florence and Ina in tow.

More mementos

Ina & Jasper's children as young adults

**********************************************************************
Just two or three posts to go now.... however...

There will be no post next week. My cousin Kathy, my uncle Jimmy’s daughter, whom I have not seen since we were very little, is coming to visit me in Victoria. I am so excited! We lost touch with each other over the years but doing the book for my aunt brought us back together. It has been amazing to me to find out over the past year or so just how much the two of us have in common… we’ll have a great time together!

See you in two weeks,
Sharon

An Art Journey Into Family History Part 7

Moving to New Hampshire

In August 1920, Jasper and Ina moved with their three boys to New Hampshire. Young Georgia remained behind in Fredericton with her Aunt Ida, her deceased father’s sister.

Lured by the prospect of greater prosperity and nearing retirement age, my great grandfather Henry decided to sell the farm in Fredericton and along with my great grandmother Commela and their youngest son Willis accompany Ina and Jasper to New Hampshire.

But the 1920’s in New Hampshire turned out not to be good years to be in farming.

During World War I, the government had encouraged farmers to up their food production but after the war was over and life returned to normal, the demand for farmer’s goods decreased. With it went the profits they had enjoyed.


Perhaps my grandfather and great grandfather thought it would be different south of the border. It was, at first. However, it didn’t take long before farmers on both sides of the border were feeling the financial pinch.

Life on a New Hampshire farm during the 1920’s was hard.. Not only did the men work from dawn to dusk but the women did not enjoy the conveniences of modern life as we know today. They all went to bed with the chickens, thoroughly exhausted and got up with the rooster’s crow to start all over again.

More Children


During the 1920’s, three new additions were added to Ina and Jasper’s quickly growing family.

Shortly after arriving in New Hampshire, Ina discovered that she was pregnant with her fifth child. Florence Commela was born the following May.

Aunt Flo had often wondered where her first name had originated. A search through existing family records indicated nothing. Had she been named after a friend of her mother’s? That, of course, we would never know.

It was only when I decided to do a search for popular baby names in the 1920’s that I discovered that Florence was a popular girl’s name at the time. Did Ina love that name so much that she decided to give it to her new baby girl.? I like to think so. So did my aunt when we chatted about it a few months later.

Her second name, of course, came from her grandmother Burnett. However, most of her life, aunt Flo had spelt it Camella (with an “a”) and not Commella (with an “o”). Her birth certificate, which she acquired much later on in her life had Commela spelt with an “a” and only one “m”. The discrepancy in spelling was only discovered during my research and was likely a transcription error from her original birth record. Handwritten “o’s” were often mistaken for “a’s” and dropping an “m” made the pronunciation look “right”! Another mystery solved LOL.

Florence was not yet a year old when Ina discovered she was pregnant again! Another son, James Henry was born in November of 1922.

In the latter part of the summer of 1923, the announcement of yet another child on the way, her sixth pregnancy since marrying Jasper in 1915, may have caused some very serious discussions within the family. Times were hard. Money was scarce. Their farmhouse with five adults and five children was already bursting at its seams. The prospect of yet another mouth to feed, clothe and care for likely came as a shock.

Ina, never robust, continued to struggle intermittently with her health. The financial burden of a large family, hard, heavy work on the farm, the care of five children all under the age of eight and aging in-laws (65 in those days was much different than it is today!) was beginning to take its toll. The strain began to show on her face. Photographs of her during this time show a woman putting on a brave face but appearing frail and looking much, much older than thirty three years of age.

In May of 1924, her last child, another daughter, Ina Bertha was born.

That summer, Georgia came to visit with her mother and step-siblings during her school holidays. Georgia was introduced to her new baby sister Ina. She was very taken with Ina and it was a relationship that remained strong throughout their lives.


Below is a photo of "little" Ina at age 9 sittin' on the woodpile behind Goldie and Belle Nugent's (Ina's only surviving brother and sister-in-law) home in Fredericton.



The Tragic Loss of a Mother

By the fall of 1925, Ina’s health had deteriorated even more. In late November she was diagnosed with tuberculosis. Already in poor health, the diagnosis was a death sentence.

Ina Bessie Nugent Thomas Burnett died on the family farm on Dec. 6, 1925.

In those days, the rearing of children was left up to the female members of the family. Although I knew some of the details that followed my grandmother’s death, it had never occurred to me until I was creating this family book that the burden for raising these children fell squarely upon my great-grandmother’s shoulders when Ina died.

Conversations with my aunt Flo confirmed that indeed this was the case.

I felt a strong bond of empathy growing with my great grandmother. Women at that time in our history did not express their feelings openly. I began to imagine what it must have been like for her when Ina died.

All indications are that she was fond of Ina and to lose her daughter in law must have been very difficult all by itself. But to be faced with the prospect of raising six children, all under the age of 10 at age 62 (she was four years younger than my great grandfather) had to be very overwhelming.

“What must have been going through her mind?” I wondered. “How must she have felt?”

I decided to write a letter for my great grandmother to a female relative on her side of the family to express some of those feelings that had, in all probability, never been expressed. It was my gift of release and thanks to my great grandmother for all that she did to help these young, now motherless children, in the best way she knew how.



The letter reads:

“My dear Augusta,

It is with a heavy heart that I write to you this day to tell you of Ina’s passing on Saturday, December 6 at age 34. The poor dear girl was taken with tuberculosis, such a wretched disease, which if you recall took her brother Arthur, her sister Alida, her father and her mother. However will Ida tell young Georgia that she is now an orphan and will never be able to visit with her mother again?

Such a cross Ina had to bear in her few short years. Losing her first husband so shortly after their marriage and before Georgia was born, then her dear mother a few short months later. How heartbreaking it must have been for her to lose her dear father, Dr. John in ’16. At least he lived long enough to see her re-married and meet his first grandson Wilfred.

Jasper, as you can imagine, is beside himself. Whatever will he do now with 6 young children to raise? And oh my heart aches for those children. Wilfred is but 10, Guy is 8 and Willis just turned 7. The little ones, Florence (4), Jimmy (3) and baby Ina will never know their mother. They don’t really understand what has happened and keep asking when their mother is coming back. How sad it is to bear witness to the bewilderment on their tiny faces and know there is nothing one can do to mend their little hearts.

Ina so adored her children and she will be sorely missed by them. However much I love these young souls who have now been entrusted to my care, a grandmother can never replace a mother. I pray each night that I am given the strength to carry on and do right by them. Whatever should I do if I am not up to the task as I grow older? Oh dear Augusta, I dare not even entertain the thought.

Stella [my great-grandmother’s only daughter with whom she was very close] and young Lenore {Stella’s daughter and my great grandmother’s granddaughter] are arriving next week to help….”

The letter remains unfinished.



It took me a long time to write that letter. I shed many a tear while composing it Perhaps those tears were the ones my great grandmother felt inside but felt couldn’t or wouldn’t show at the time.

My aunt Flo cried softly when she finally got to read it a few months later. As she dried her tears, she said: “My grandma was a wonderful woman. She took care of us as best she could for as long as she could. Where ever did you find that letter?”

I told her I had written it myself.

She stared at me in disbelief.

“Sharon, I honestly thought it was a letter grandma wrote. It sounds just like grandma used to talk. I could hear her voice as I read it. I thought she had written it to Augusta. I have needed to hear everything in that letter since the day my mother died.”

My dear auntie slept soundly that night for the first time in a very, very long time. I know because I was there with her.


Sharon

An Art Journey Into Family History, Part 6

Little Girl, Lost

“She was only three when she went to live with her aunt Ida. She never lived with us but she came to visit us often when we lived in New Hampshire.”

I was stunned. All my life I had believed that my aunt Georgia had lived with her mother after her marriage to my grandfather and had only gone to live with “an aunt” after her mother died in 1929.

“Who was Ida?” I asked.

I’d heard the name when I was quite young but of course hadn’t paid it much attention. I wanted to know. Was this the same Ida whose name was on the back of the fading family photograph at the Burnett farmhouse when my Dad was a baby?

“She was my mother’s first husband’s sister.” said aunt Flo. “She was a spinster and didn’t have any children of her own so when my mother re-married she offered to take Georgia. I think that’s why Georgia hated my Dad so much all of her life. He took our mother away from her and she never forgave him for it. She was so bitter towards him. She told me once she thought he was responsible for her death. That made me feel so horrible.”

“Whoa”, I thought to myself. “I am beginning to understand why she tore up all the family pictures, broke all of her records and ripped up the memorabilia she had gathered in the course of her career before she died. "

What Georgia may not have realized (although it is unlikely that it would have made a difference… emotions are much stronger than logic) is that during the Victorian era and the early 1900’s, it was not at all unusual for children of a first marriage to be sent to live with paternal relatives after the death of their birth father.

Women typically did not work outside the home. Unless they were independently “wealthy” or had inheritances of their own to sustain them, women and especially widows had to re-marry for their own security.

Although some men were comfortable accepting the children of a first marriage, many were not. Children were sent to live with relatives as a way to increase a woman’s chances of finding a new husband. Whether this was the case or not, I shall never know. That information died with Ina Burnett and Ida Thomas.

A Brief Sketch

Over the next hour, aunt Flo gave me a brief sketch of my aunt Georgia’s life after the death of their mother.

Georgia and her aunt Ida moved from New Brunswick to Cape Elizabeth, Maine. Ida Thomas was not wealthy but had sufficient means to give Georgia a home and first class education, not only academically but musically as well..

After high school, Georgia left Maine for New York city to study voice at the Julliard School of Music. She sang with the Metropolitan Opera, touring with them for a number of years. When the United States joined the war, she traveled all over the world with the USO entertaining the troops. She was with the USO for years.

Her first marriage to a man eight years her junior turned out to be a terrible mistake and ended quickly. She resolved never to marry again.

Over the years though, she kept in touch with her old friend James whom she had known since their school days in Cape Elizabeth. James, who was a language teacher and singer, left Cape Elizabeth in 1938 and moved to California.

In 1965, Georgia moved from Cape Elizabeth to Miami, Florida. She and James saw each other frequently over the years and eventually James convinced her to move to California and marry him. They had sixteen more years together before he died in 1989. In 1990, Georgia moved to Pleasant Hill, California to be closer to my aunt Flo in Walnut Creek.

“She told me she was moving to Pleasant Hill to be closer to me. But I hardly ever saw her after she moved even though she was just a hop, skip and a jump away.” said aunt Flo.

“Georgia was a hard woman to understand.” she continued. “She was always a part of our family, at least where my brothers and sisters were concerned. We included her as much as we could. We kept in touch with her throughout her life. I loved her dearly but oh my she could be very difficult. She was so hard to get close to. She’d “run away and hide” a lot. It makes me sad just thinking of her.” She began to cry.

Photo taken in New Hampshire circa summer 1927
during one of Georgia's visits to her mother.

Aunt Flo and I never spoke of Georgia again after that day. It was too upsetting for her.

A Family "Genealogist's" Dilemma...

I met my aunt Georgia but one time. She came to visit my parents and I remember being fascinated with her stories and awed by her beautiful singing voice.

I wrestled for days with whether or not I should include a separate page for her in the Burnett family book. It was one of the most difficult decisions I had to make in the entire process of gathering the information and photographs together.

In the end, I decided to include her in the family tree information and include photos of her but not make a separate page for her as I did for each of her step-siblings.

Today, my heart still aches when I think of that little girl inside of her who likely felt cast aside, lost and abandoned her whole life through.

I came to realize that my aunt Georgia likely forced herself to put on a brave face for 87 long, lonely years. Did that little girl inside of her feel heartbroken and rejected most of her life? Did she still long for the comfort of her mother’s arms and pine for the love she felt had been taken from her when she died at age 90 in 2002? My guess is yes.

This blog post is for you and you alone aunt Georgie. May you rest in peace.


Sharon

An Art Journey Into Family History Part 2

I don’t know about you but I don’t make New Year’s resolutions. I am too much of a free spirit to be boxed in by some goal I think I should go after. I gave up “resolutions” years ago. Fraught with resistance from the “get-go”, they are doomed for early failure even before the ink on my page (yep, I use a fountain pen) is dry!

OOPS! You’re probably wondering already what New Year resolutions have to do with my art and this blog post. I confess! I am about to digress. Just a tad. Bear with me. I promise it won’t take long. There is a rhyme and reason to this brief, little “side trip”…

Now…

In January of any given year, I watch how my water aerobics group suddenly gets very large as folks flock to the pool to fulfill some New Year resolution of losing weight or getting more exercise. Occasionally, some of these folks last through March but the majority have all but disappeared by the end of the shortest month of the year. March always comes in like a lamb… our group becomes manageable again. I often wonder how many of them have abandoned a resolution they made. Something that seemed like a great idea on Jan. 1 that quickly deteriorated into a lot of hard work until finally they just gave up! We’ve all been there… Giving up is a crappy feeling …

Well if there is one thing I hate, it’s feeling crappy! After the umpteenth time of doing the same ole thing expecting different results, I banished resolutions and came up with a deviously simple way to go after stuff I determine is truly important to me. A simple solution that makes me feel good and for years now, has never let me down. Yep, I am about to share it with you…are you ready?

Getting Serious…

Sometime in January, preferably on a day when the sun is shining, I get serious I swing by my favourite coffee bar (aptly named “Serious Coffee”… LOL... a Vancouver Island based coffee chain) and get a BIG cup of coffee “to go”. Armed with my daytimer, my pen and a warm, comfy quilt, I head to a sheltered spot on the beach for a chat with ME, MYSELF and I. The only question on my mind is this very simple one: “What three things do you want to focus on this year?”

I rarely have any trouble coming up with an answer. As a matter of fact, I find it pretty darn easy coming up with lots of ideas that makes my heart go pitter patter. The hard part is sorting through all of the possibilities that dance in my head to settle on only three. In spite of being wrapped up in my beach quilt, the cold, north wind blowing along the beach on a January day definitely speeds up the decision making.

Once I know what they are, I whip out my trusty pen and write “the chosen” down in the first pages of my daytimer. I don’t spend any time making a plan, setting “goals” or “soul searching”. It’s too darn cold down there LOL. I just get on with my life and let whatever I write down percolate in the background trusting that when the time is right, it will surface for attention.

In 2007, “ART” … in its many forms (computer and otherwise) was something I felt personally important for me to focus on and wrote it down.

OK, end of digression. That wasn’t so bad now, was it? LOL

A Serendipitous Moment...

A few mere days after writing down my three focuses for 2007, I overheard one of the women in my water aerobics group talking about the “scrapbooking memory program” she had received for Christmas. My ears perked up and my curiosity GPS kicked in.

“What the heck is a scrapbooking memory program?” I wondered out loud. “BOY! I must really be behind the times.” I said quietly to myself.

Well… I didn’t get a satisfactory answer but then again that’s what we have the Internet for isn’t it? I fired up the computer when I got home and went surfing.

It didn’t take me long to figure out that it was “digital graphics made easy” through templates, etc…she was talking about. Hmmm…some ideas for how I could use this in my art started floating through my mind.

To make a long story short and so as not bore you to death with trivial details, I decided, in the end that a “canned” program was not for me. I absolutely did not want yet another program taking up precious space on my computer!

Now, as many of you already know, I like a good challenge and the thought occurred to me that perhaps this “new bit of information” was really an invitation to get "down and dirty" learning some graphic techniques. It was, after all, right in line with one of my “focuses” for 2007!

I had an old copy of Paint Shop Pro installed on my computer. Even though I dabbled with it from time to time, I rarely spent a concentrated block of time finding out what I could really do with it.

My research into “scrapbooking” had uncovered some free PSP tutorials that looked interesting. I took a crack at trying some of them out. Well WHOOPEE… they were both challenging and fun! Aaah… two experiences that will snag me in a heartbeat!

I upgraded to the latest and greatest version of PSP. Set some time aside every day to mess with it. Hey, I learned how to play piano by setting aside 15 minutes every day to practice. I could do the same with this!

Fast Forward…My First Pages…

As I sat at the computer looking at the photos of gramma’s grave, the farmhouse, barn and old school that Jackie sent me, I contemplated how I would set up the graphics pages for the photos. My initial thought was to try a design out digitally before I committed to creating it on “paper”.

Heck, I had all the time in the world. I was only going to do, at the most, four or five pages. I had already decided that they would make a lovely little Christmas gift for my aunt.

I popped a chocolate in my mouth.

“Hmmm… I do love those Roger’s Victoria Creams,” I thought to myself.

Hubby, bless him, surprises me with some on occasion during the year. It’s just one of his sweet ways (no pun intended LOL) of letting me know he loves me.

“I wonder if gramma liked chocolate as much as auntie Flo and I do?”

I laughed to myself at the thought that perhaps her mother and my grandmother had passed down a “chocolate gene” of her own to both of us.

EUREKA!!! It was perfect. A “chocolate” coloured background. The colour for the background of my first graphic would be chocolate. I chuckled. My dear auntie would roar laughing when I told her how I came up with it. At 86, she deserved some good chuckles!

The graphics for the page with gramma’s grave photos came together in the wink of an eye! I “doctored” the photo… adding some calla lilies to her headstone. Flowers that (to me) mean simplicity and beauty. I was sure gramma would be pleased to have flowers placed on her headstone again.. even if it was digitally!

The quote between the photos reads: "Death leaves a heartache that no one can heal but love leaves a memory no one can steal." The photo of my paternal grandmother was digitally placed inside a scan of a gold watch case that belonged to my maternal grandmother. I just thought that was rather fitting!

Even though you can see the narrative section on these first pages I created with the photos from Jackie, the “story” part actually was added later on in the process.

A number of questions arose as I thought about what was to go in this section.

Who was my grandmother? What was she like? Who were her parents? What was important to her? What had happened to cause her death at 34? What must it have been like for these young children to lose their mother?

Questions… floating through my brain demanding an answer. Answers I wanted to have before even attempting to write anything in that blank section. Some of those questions eventually received an answer. Some could never be answered. It still brings tears to my eyes just thinking about some of them.

The BIG Nudge…

I didn’t know it at the time but these few pages and the questions swirling around in my head formed THE nudge towards researching the genealogy of the Burnett family. I love historical research. I jumped at the chance to indulge myself in it… Time well spent of course… it was, after all, for a good cause. LOL

I was amazed and fascinated by what I found on the Internet. It was a treasure trove of digitally scanned original documents from U.S. border crossings filled out in the hand of an ancestor to handwritten census reports, death, birth and marriage records and actual scans of certificates.

Imagine how excited I was to find newspaper clippings about long ago members of the family. A little bit of long forgotten (and new to me) family members scandal spiced it right up!

Here's the newspaper page I created, fashioned after a newspaper of the day, to record some of clippings I found from the 1890's....







I was absolutely flabbergasted the day I discovered that our ancestors are listed in the “First Families of New Brunswick” publication in the New Brunswick Provincial Archives. Our family roots are planted among some of the oldest families in Canada long before Canada became a nation in 1867.

The road ahead…

What you will discover in subsequent posts, will be many of the “story art” pages (now you know where the name of my blog came from LOL) I created as I researched our family heritage over a five month period in 2007. The “story” of getting there and the publication of the pages I created into an actual book for current members of our “far flung” family.

My aunt, of course, did not know that I was creating these pages for her. But my sister and some of my cousins were “in the know” keeping it a secret. It was easier than what you might think. My aunt lived in sunny California and the rest of us are scattered… miles upon miles apart… all over Canada, the U.S. and England.

When some of my family members saw a few of the first results, they began “hinting” (in a very good natured way) at the possibility of making more than one copy of each page. They wanted pages too! Well so much for doing "one off" art on paper. I decided I would continue creating the pages digitally so I could share them with those relatives who wanted a peek!

As I neared completion of the graphic and photo phase of the initial pages and was knee deep in the research end of this “project”, I had an experience that pointed out to me that the countless hours of research and art so far, sometimes working from early morning to well into the night, but never less than eight hours a day, deserved to be acknowledged and shared. The thought of just putting all the information, photos, and mementos I had gathered thus far in a binder and squirreling it away in a filing cabinet to be forgotten just didn’t cut it with me. It was important for me to somehow honour my own process of doing the work to get to this point but how? I really didn’t have an answer.

One morning I woke up at the crack of dawn with an “itch” on the brain. Something in my psyche was bugging me, demanding my undivided attention. As I lay quietly in bed, it bubbled up into consciousness. It was my creative muse. Dropping by to remind me that it was important for me to honour my own process of creating as well as producing a result. These pages deserved to be published on the best paper I could find with the finest binding available.

“Probably end up being one of the shortest, most expensive books ever published!” I thought, laughing to myself.

My next thought came like a jolt of lightning out of nowhere. The name of the book just tumbled forth. I started to argue with my muse about the time and work that would be involved in expanding the pages to include my aunt’s siblings, maybe her grandparents. We argued back and forth… but in the end, my muse won. OK. I got it. You win. Fine. Let’s get on with it. I got out of bed. I knew exactly what I needed to do next.

Join me again next week, as I continue the “show and tell” journey of “Scraps of Memories, Slices of Life”.

Yep, that’s the name my muse gave our family book that morning! Little devil. it neglected to put the years in the ”from and to” spaces. BOY was I in for a surprise.

Sharon

An Art Journey Into Family History Part 5

A Valentine’s Day Invitation

Before I get into this week’s “episode”, allow me to invite you to the Valentine Blog Party sponsored by Flatwood Design this coming Saturday, February 14.

I love surprises (the good kind that is!) so I am keeping the fun projects and downloads I have for you in celebration of Happy Hearts Day a secret. Not easy for me to do! I want to share what they are with you so badly I have to bite my tongue in order to not give them away! LOL

So put a nice big heart on your calendar as a reminder to drop by and join the party on February 14!

My desk was a mess! Everywhere I looked, there were post it notes with scribbles of names and dates I had discovered in my research over the past couple of weeks. I was feeling bogged down, confused and getting more frustrated by the minute. I began to understand why my sister had felt so overwhelmed sorting through the myriad of “paper slips” with family information on them that Dad had left behind.

As I began plowing through old census’, it became more and more difficult to figure out who everyone was (and which family they belonged to) especially since many of them had the same first names! There are more James, Robert and Mary’s in my family than you can shake a stick at. What I didn’t know was that I was about to discover a few more just to add to the confusion…LOL

My biggest piece of advice to “would be” family genealogists: Record your information, family by family, in a spreadsheet on the computer right from the “get go”. Once I took the time to do that it made a tremendous difference. What I wasn’t prepared for were the number of changes I would have to make over the next few months before it was correct and complete.

Combing Through Old Records…

It took me awhile to figure out how to go about finding information quickly. But as I have said many times since, "If there is one thing that doing a doctorate teaches you, it's how to research!". That skill came in very handy in the weeks and months ahead. However, the deeper I got into the past, the more "stuff" I discovered to confuse, frustrate and challenge me. I began to understand why some people take years to complete a project like this. You need the tenacity of a bulldog at times. Having a good reason for doing it doesn't hurt either!

Wrong dates of births, marriages and deaths. Incorrect spelling of names. No first names at all. Difficult to read handwriting. “Extra” family members (I would eventually find out that my great-great grandmother was listed as a daughter of my great-great-great grandfather when in fact she was his daughter-in-law!). Missing records. Lost locations of cemeteries or incorrect transcriptions of headstones. Just a few of the things that had me literally tearing my hair out on some days.

By far, the biggest “snag” I ran into was a lost census. I was so disappointed. I needed it to continue. Without it I could go no further. It had simply disappeared from the county records at some point and was no longer available.

“I’ve gone as far back as I can.” I lamented to my hubby and aunt. “Without this census, I can’t tell who belonged to which family. They had so many darn children in those days, it’s hard to figure out which Robert, James or Mary belongs to which family!”

I was at a dead end…
The photo below is a "sample" of one of the family tree pages that I put together for each of the 9 generations of our family beginning with my 5G’s grandmother Mary who was born in 1791.

This is the family page of my great-great grandparents. They had eleven children in all. Four of their children died in their first year of life (Mary, James, Eliza and Annie). One of their daughters (Sarah) died in her early 20's of pneumonia.

Miracles Do Happen… Don't Give Up!

I was at my wit's end. I wasn't sure what to do next. However fate and a good dose of luck was on my side...

A few weeks later, I discovered a name mentioned in the notes left by my uncle Wilfred before he died. Something felt familiar about this unusual name but I couldn’t put my finger on it.

I asked my cousins, my sister and my aunt if they knew who he was. No one had ever heard the name before.

“Honey, you’ll never guess what I found!” said aunt Flo a few days later. “An old letter from your aunt Joy written in 1998! I was rummaging around in one of my drawers looking for something and I found it. I can’t imagine why I kept it at the time. She mentions that “a fellow who lives in America” (my aunt Joy lives in England) had got in touch with your uncle because he believed that he was related to our family.”

She chuckled. “So there you have it. He lives somewhere in America, Miss Nancy Drew. Good luck finding HIM whoever and wherever he is!” she laughed.

I went to bed that night wondering if this “fellow” was the elusive “Alva”. “Hmmm, I think I’ll take a whack at it and see if I can’t find something on line. I wonder if he wasn’t doing some genealogy on his family too? ”

Nancy Follows a Hunch

I woke up at the crack of dawn the next morning. Something told me to go online and look at the Family Search database from the Church of Latter Day Saints. I had been there before… right at the beginning of my research. I was just getting my "feet" wet at that point and didn't really know my way in the genealogy world. Had I perhaps seen his name before? Could it be there?

I started searching. Yes, by golly... there, buried among many others with the same first name was a man about the same age as my aunt. He lived in Idaho. Well that was America! LOL Could it be?

I searched some more and found an old request on one of the search boards from 1998 mentioning my great-great-great-great grandfather and his brother Robert.

Boy was I starting to get excited or what!

I continued my search and eventually found an address. More digging and I finally came up with a telephone number.

WOW! I was sure I had found HIM! There was only one way to find out.

By the time hubby came home from work that day, I was bouncing off the ceiling. I told him about my “finds” that day.

“So, are you going to call him?” he asked.

As nervous as I was about calling a complete stranger, I had made the decision to call him the next day. I wasn't sure how to start my conversation to inquire if he was the person I was looking for. I'm rather shy about approaching people I don't know.

The next morning, I stumbled through introducing myself on the phone. I must have mumbled something about why I was calling. Alva was patient as he waited for me to finish my “spiel”.

When I finally "shut up" LOL, he told me that he was just thrilled to hear from a long lost relative. We ended up having a delightful conversation chatting back and forth about our family connections.

Over the next couple of weeks, we exchanged a few emails. He kindly offered to send him all of his family information.

One bright sunny morning, a package was waiting for me in the mailbox. When I opened it, I could hardly believe my eyes. Not only had he sent me a copy of all his family research, he had enclosed a copy of… yes.... you guessed it… the missing census!

I jumped up and down for joy when I realized what it was. A relative in New Brunswick had made a copy of it years before and sent it to him.

Miracles do happen. Nancy Drew had found “her man” and solved the case. LOL

I now had all of the missing pieces to put the family puzzle together.

Sharing My News

I called Aunt Flo. “Guess who I found?” I asked with a grin in my voice.

She just chuckled at my news. “Well I sure hope that one day you can put all of this information together to share with our family. I just can’t imagine how you can find all this stuff! It’s just amazing. Looking for Alva was like trying to find a needle in a haystack and you did it! I am so proud of you.”

I assured her that one day I would get all the information together!

Only later did she realize just how significant finding Alva was to completing the book I would dedicate to her..

A Meangingful Poem

Another page I included in the book was a poem I found on one of the family genealogy sites that really spoke to me as I laboured late into the night going through census after census. . I took the liberty of personalizing it (somewhat!) to our family. I thought you might enjoy reading it...

The Census

“It was the first day of census, and all through the land,
the pollster was ready, a black book in hand.
He mounted his horse for a long dusty ride,
his book and some quills were tucked close by his side.

A long winding ride down a road barely there
toward the smell of fresh bread wafting though the air.
The woman was tired, with lines on her face
and wisps of brown hair she tucked back into place.

She gave him some water, as they sat at the table
and she answered his questions – the best she was able.
He asked of her children. Yes, she had quite a few,
the oldest was twenty, the youngest not two.

She held up a toddler with cheeks round and red.
His sister, she whispered, was napping in bed.
She noted each person who lived there with pride
as she felt the faint stirrings of the wee one inside.

He noted the sex, the color, the age.
The marks from the quill soon filled up the page.
At the number of children, she nodded her head
and saw her lips quiver for the three that were dead.

The places of birth, she “never forgot”.
Was it Kansas? Or Maine? Or New Brunswick… or not?
They came from Ireland, of that she was clear.
But she wasn’t quite sure just how long they’d been here.

They spoke of employment, of schooling and such.
They could read some, and write some, though really not much.
When the questions were answered, his job there was done,
so he mounted his horse and rode off toward the sun.

We can almost imagine is voice loud and clear,
“May God bless you all for another ten years.”

Now picture a time warp – it’s now you and me
as we search for the people on our family tree.
We squint at the census and scroll down so slow
as we search for that entry from long, long ago.

Could they only imagine on that long ago day
that the entries they made would effect us this way?
If they knew, would they wonder at the yearning we feel
and the searching that makes them so increasingly real.

We can hear if we listen to the words they impart.
Through their blood in our veins and their voice in our heart.”

To end today’s post, here are the three “art pages” I did for my generation (the 7th)

7th Generation - Crossword Puzzle with "Clues"

8th Generation - Bingo Card - Chips Off the Old Block


9th Generation - Monopoly Board

Thanks for stopping by today. See you this coming Saturday at the Valentine Blog Party!

Sharon

An Art Journey Into Family History Part 3

Before I get into the thick of things today, I want to thank all of those readers who have taken the time to send me lovely emails or left comments on the blog about this series of postings. Your words mean a lot to me… and it tells me that there are people out there who are actually reading my blog! Without feedback from you, it makes it very difficult to judge whether or not what I am writing is of interest. So please continue leaving comments or sending emails… it is very much appreciated.

Jumping right in…

When I found the actual U.S. entry documents on the USGenWeb, I knew for sure that in August 1920, my great grandparents, Commela and Henry, along with their son and daughter in law (my grandparents) and their four children left New Brunswick and moved to a bustling little farming community called Cricket Corner (I love that name!) just outside Amherst, New Hampshire.

As I started delving into gathering information for the narrative part of my pages, I casually began chatting about it with my aunt.

“I was going through some old photographs”, I began “and I came across some photos of Dad when he was a baby.”

I described the first photo. She knew exactly the one I was talking about.




“I’m curious… where was it taken?” I asked.

This casual question came as no surprise to her. For years, she had called me “Nancy Drew, my mystery detective” when I related tales of my latest dance with historical research.

This casual question provided my entrée into talking about our family history. It was also a precursor to openly broaching the subject of doing family research. An idea I knew she would love!

“That was taken before I was born. I think it was after Mom and Dad moved to New Hampshire.”

An aside note…

This turned out not to be the case. Cross border documents I found in my research later on indicated that my dad was nearly two when they moved to N.H. My best guess: the photo was taken sometime in the spring while they still lived in New Brunswick. How do I know that? I studied the picture. My Dad was born in November and looks about six months old in this casual, back step photo. Six months from November would make it April. I will never know but I am guessing that it could have been taken on my grandmother’s birthday in mid April.

I described the second photo. She wasn't sure she had ever seen it.

"Send me a copy." she said.

I did. In a conversation a few weeks later, she was able to tell me who was in the photo. She had never seen it before.

After the book was published and my Aunt Joy (an aunt by marriage) saw the photo of her husband (my uncle Wilfred) as a young child, she was absolutely amazed. "My goodness, we never saw that photo. That picture of "Bamp" (their family nickname for my uncle) is a carbon copy of our eldest son at that age."



Nancy Drew and the Mystery Case of Family History…

Aunt Flo chuckled. “Ah, is my Nancy Drew about to go on another mission?” she said. “It would be wonderful if you did this and we found out more about where we came from.”

Yep, the gateway to mining her family knowledge and memories was definitely now open! It was, after all, her idea now wasn’t it? LOL

She reminded me that I had a “jump start”. My Dad and one of my uncles had already done some “detective work” before they passed away.

I knew my dad’s were on “slips of paper” in a big envelope (he died unexpectedly in 1984) that my sister had. My uncle, who passed away in November 2006, had managed to create a family tree of his immediate family.

Two good places to start.

I called my sister and asked if she could dig out the information and send it to me.

I tracked down the last known whereabouts of my cousin David (I had never met him or his wife). I must admit I was rather nervous picking up the phone to call him. I had never spoken to him and I didn’t want to sound like a “dork” when I did. I needn’t have been nervous… the conversation went very well.

I fired up my computer. The quest for family information began…

Who was my Grandmother?

All my life, I had believed that my grandmother’s middle name was Bertha. Imagine my surprise when I discovered that it was Bessie. Bertha, it turns out, was the second name of her youngest daughter who was my grandmother’s namesake.

I wondered where these names had come from. Traditionally many of the same family names are passed down from generation to generation in many families. Fortunately I had a copy of my grandmother’s maternal family history I could scour for clues. In the end, I never did discover either of these names in my grandmother’s maternal family history. I can only surmise that they may have come from her paternal side.

Born in 1891 to Amelia and John Nugent, Ina Bessie Nugent was the fourth of five children. Her parents had met at the wedding of her mother’s sister in 1877 and they were married in October of the following year.





(This photo collage of Amelia and John was not part of "Scraps of Memories, Slices of Life")

Born in Ireland in 1842, John Nugent was a young, recently graduated doctor from the Cincinnati College of Medicine and Surgery with a successful medical practice in Briggs Corner and Chipman, New Brunswick. No doubt, for the times, he was classified a “good catch” by Amelia Jane’s father and didn’t encounter any resistance when asking for her hand. Well read, he also had a side job. He was a newspaper correspondent for a Saint John, New Brunswick newspaper.

Tragedy strikes…

As a child, my grandmother was termed “delicate”. Like her mother, she was a wisp of a child and often battled with her health. But be that as it may, she managed to attend and graduate from the New Brunswick Provincial Normal School (teacher’s college) and become a teacher.

She was in her first full year of teaching in a school not far from her birth place of Chipman when her eldest brother Arthur, a strapping, athletic young man with a penchant for the “manly” art of boxing, was diagnosed with tuberculosis.

She returned home to help her mother and younger sister Alida nurse her ailing brother. Arthur died within a few months at the tender age of 31. The family and particularly her mother Amelia was devastated by his early demise.

According to Dr. Nugent, who wrote the obituary that appeared in the newspaper, Arthur had taken one box to the head too many.

A popular sport among young men of his age at the time, the “obit writer” went on to rail against boxing and the matches being held in town. He concluded that the sport (and the beatings boxers take) had led his son to a weakened state causing him to come down with influenza. This bout with the “flu” further weakened him to the point that the TB “bug” could invade his body.

Reading between the lines of the obituary, I could hear the sobs of grief coming from a man who has just lost his eldest son.

Romance…

While teaching in Blissville, Ina had been swept off her feet by a handsome, well read and established “army man”, Major George Thomas. Their romance continued, albeit at long distance (at least for those times... today it would be a hop, skip and jump!) once she returned home to Chipman.

Perhaps absence made the heart grow fonder, for soon after returning home, George proposed. Although there were some family concerns over their age differences (she was not yet 20 and George was 37), Ina was determined to marry him. After much discussion, a wedding was planned and they were married in June 1911.

Ina’s happiness was short lived.

In February of the following year, George died suddenly of a heart attack. The tragedy occurred almost to the very day her brother had passed away the year before.

Ina, seven months pregnant, in shock and disbelief at this tragic turn of affairs, returned to live in the family home.

Her mother was not well. The stress and strain of the past year was taking its’ toll on her health Run down from all the grief of the past year, she fell gravely ill.

Tuberculosis. That dreaded disease had struck his family again. My great grandfather knew that it was akin to receiving a death sentence. This time it would take his beloved wife. Very few people ever recovered from this disease, much less survived during the late 1800’s and early 1900’s.

Determined to live to see the birth of her first grandchild, Amelia Jane Nugent passed away in 1912 when my aunt Georgia was but two months old.

Piecing the story together…

Over the years, I have studied, researched and written “stories” about the lives of women who lived in the late 1800’s and early 1900’s. I find this period in our collective history to be a fascinating study that provides some interesting insight into “who we were as a people and nation” before we became “who we are” today

As the puzzle pieces of my grandmother’s early life began to come together, my heart ached for her.

I had a pretty darn good idea what she must have been up against as fate handed her some painful blows. I could only imagine how helpless, hopeless and painful this time in her young life must have been for her. Many a day’s “work” of unearthing information left me feeling sad at the end of the day. The pain and grief in my grandmother’s early life touched my heart deeply. I felt vulnerable and fragile. Tears, always close at hand, tumbled.

I toyed with the idea of giving up. I knew there was more tragedy to come for my grandmother. I consoled myself with the thought that it would be okay because I already knew what it was. Well, not quite, as I was about to discover….

To end today’s post on a happier note, I’d like to leave you with a few notes and tips on gathering family information. Even if you don’t plan to ever do a family tree or delve into researching your family, you’ll find some ideas of things you can do today with your family information to make it easier for future generations.

But first, here’s the page I made with the photo of my Dad and uncles first school. It was such a fun page to put together!




Being “farm kids”, they all had chores to do before they left for school. As I studied the photos I had of their farm and thought about my visit to the area some years before, I found myself imagining those three young boys sauntering off to school picking up rocks, kicking at the dirt and playfully punching each other as they made their way to school.. It made me smile….

The narrative reads “Their morning chores on the farm done, Wilfred, Guy and Willis washed behind their ears, put on their school clothes, ran their fingers through their hair, spit on their shoes when their mother and grandmother weren’t looking, then trotted off to school just down the road.”

Some Thoughts and Tips on Gathering Family Information…

The conversations with my aunt Flo as well as gathering old family photographs from the past 100 plus years gave me a true appreciation for the importance of keeping good family records.

It very quickly became apparent to me that we all need to encourage our elders to write down or tell us about their lives and what they know about family members who have passed on. Memories, dates and names fade. They are lost forever when your parents, grandparents, aunts, uncles or cousins are no longer here to supply the information. Get them talking! Offer to write it down or record the conversation if you aren’t into writing. Just get the information in any way that feels comfortable for you!

Even if you never plan to do your “family history”, I’d like to suggest that you take a few minutes to record current events for future generations in a small notebook. I am as guilty as the next person for not writing down family events as they occur. Now, not everyone in a future generation will be interested but I can guarantee you there will be someone who wants to know!

At a minimum, keep a record of birth dates, places, countries, marriages, divorces, deaths. Speaking of deaths… now that cremation is becoming more the norm, where are the ashes of loved ones residing or in many cases, being scattered? Someone will be curious and if it is not recorded, it will be lost forever.

Tuck family ephemera away, preferably all of it in the same spot! When I was a child, I remember my mother telling all of us where the “family” stuff was and how important it would be to “grab” the box in the event of a fire or flood. It was good advice… think of all the family stuff that was lost forever during hurricane Katrina! As much as many of those folks displaced by the hurricane were devastated by the loss of their homes, many of them mentioned feeling heartbroken at losing “family” ephemera and photographs.

Newspaper clippings, certificates, awards, your children’s drawings, family bibles, school records and special cards are just some ideas of what to keep. While you are it, make sure that your photographs list who is in the picture! Today, we may know when the photo was taken (it’s usually stamped on the photo) but often we forget to include the “where” and “who”!

Have a great week…

Sharon