The Letter That Started It All

 

 

In 1940, the Blitz was going on in London. Bombers were flying over the city and the surrounding area every day. It must have been terrifying. My mother would have been sixteen. She got it into her head to write a letter to her grandfather's brother who was still in England. This is his reply. I have to say from what he says at the close of the letter, it is clear that Ellen Tapply and perhaps Robert had stayed in touch with him. More on that later. First, for the Tapplys who are not familiar, a basic family tree.

You can see the Tapply children here. Charles E Tapply was a middle child. Of those children, Thomas, Elizabeth, and Charles emigrated to America. I have not been able to trace Mary Ann, but I suspect that the photo in Holly Jones's family's possession is an image of her. James Henry Jr. emigrated to Australia and then returned to England. Harry came to America and returned to England. The baby of the family was George. He had a long career working for the British postal service in Brighton. When he retired, I think he wanted a place by the sea, but maybe not someplace as touristy as Brighton. (think Coney Island and you would have some idea) So they moved to Whitstable. My mother, seeing this return address, simply assumed that was where the family came from. They DID come from Kent, but from Wittersham just outside Maidstone. 

Where George Tapplyy lived

As you can see, Tankerton is a small suburb of Whitstable. Whitstable is famous for its most delicious oysters. It would have been a nice retirement place, but during WWII, being right on the Thames Estuary was a liability. His good cheer in the letter is amazing.

Here is George's letter:

                                                                                                            21 Fitzroy Road

                                                                                                            Tankerton, Whitstable, Kent

My Dear Grand Niece,

            I am glad to have received your letter safely and trust that this will reach you. In 

These days of War one cannot guarantee that a letter will cross the ocean safely. I knew that my brother Charley had grandchildren, but you are the first one to approach me and I certainly return thanks for your very interesting letter. I have five brothers and two sisters but they are all dead, your grandfather Charley being the last to go. I was the youngest of the family and I have reached 76 years. Since you are part Tapply I must tell you that the Tapplys have been domiciled in Kent, England right along from Saxon times. Quite recently, a cousin of mine, Allan Tapply, a barrister, (unreadable) copied a pedigree of the Tapplys and after (unreadable) years of inquiry, search and scrutiny of parish registers, Kentish records etc. etc. he published it privately and I am glad to say he sent me a copy. He traced our branch of the Tapplys back to 1600 direct, but other branches he quotes from early Norman and even PreNorman times. You find all manner of them in the pedigree, holders of ancient manors, farmers, (unreadable), mallsters, (unreadable), grocers, tailors, etc. etc.

There are not shown in the pedigree any knights in shining armor or at least swineherds so our people in the past have not been apparently been top or bottom. The pedigree seems to show a condition of life which is very (unreadable) in Humanity “some goes up and some goes down” as Brer Rabbit says to Brer Fox when he drowned him in the well. 

However enough of the pedigree. Times are very serious and our England is now an armed camp and at present we are waiting to see what happens. People have no fear of invasion but we are afraid that it will be a long war.

There is plenty of food in the country and we get plenty although some things are rationed.

We frequently get (unreadable) alarms from the siren, but so far, we are not seriously troubled.

I have a son and daughter (who of course are cousins of your mother) Hugh is in the Civil Service and Muriel, who is not strong is at home. We live by the sea. Whitstable is near to Canterbury – 6 miles. Canterbury would please you. It dates straight back from the time of Julius Caesar who sacked it. It has a very noble cathedral about 700 years old and there are plenty of houses standing from 300 to 500 years old. We frequently go there since the architectural beauty of the old buildings pleases the eye. I think that it would please you since it is totally different to anything you have in the states.

Tell your father and mothers that I send my very best wishes to them and when you have finished with this letter please send it to your grandmother Tapply and Robert her son. And then I need not write to them on this occasion. And now, my dear girl, I wish you God speed and good fortune for the future. You have life before you and I believe you will use it well.

Yours Affectionately,

George Tapply

One note about Allan Tapply's book. I have a digital copy. While I find it very interesting, I am not in agreement with all his "facts". Allan Tapply claimed that in his interview with George he "knew nothing of his brother's families" which we can see is patently untrue. Maybe Allan wanted to stick to Tapplys still in England, but there are  Tapplys in Australia and New Zealand as well as the descendants in the States of Charles, Thomas, and Elizabeth. For the most part, Allan's family research was pretty good.

This is the letter I saw as a child that, in combination with the family reunion photo, got me started with an interest in family history. Who knew?

A Look Back

Just an image with a brief description today. (click through to look closely) This is a document I've never seen before. Obviously, it was preprinted as boilerplate to be distributed to all the small towns in the area. The person who posted it to Ancestry dated it to 1837. I haven't found an original source. Perhaps it originated with the American Anti-Slavery Society which was active at the time. But two of my relatives signed this antislavery petition: Cyrus Rogers and his son Amos are both on the signatures. They lived in Rutland, Massachusetts at the time. Cyrus was Jonathan's son. 

Curiosity about Names and the Second Great Awakening

 

The grave of Cassandra and Asher Bliss

When I first began working on my genealogy, I hit a lot of brick walls pursuing people by name. One example is my great-great-grandmother Cassandria Hooper Harrington Rogers Kauffman. I couldn't find any Harringtons that fit on census records in the Worcester area. I couldn't find a birth record for her or for her brother. And I never have, sadly. So I pursued Hooper. No luck. Finally, on a trip to New England, I consulted with a librarian at the New England Historic Genealogical Society. She didn't find anything but had another idea. Cassandria might well have been named in HONOR of someone. And it seems to have been the case.

Cassandria and Winslow Brainard Rogers were married in the Holden BAPTIST church, despite the fact that his grandfather was a founder of the local Methodist church. There may well have been a conversion, perhaps by his parents at the time he was born W. B.'s letters back from the Civil War are peppered with references of having Bible study or prayer meetings with his comrades. Cassandria is referred to in her obituary as "a godly woman". What was going on here? It was a phenomenon called The Second Great Awakening.

The Second Great Awakening occurred around the country between 1795 and 1835. Think Henry Ward Beecher, Lyman Beecher, Timothy Dwight, and even Joseph Smith.

"Many churches experienced a great increase in membership, particularly among Methodist and Baptist churches. The Second Great Awakening made soul-winning the primary function of ministry and stimulated several moral and philanthropic reforms, including temperance and the emancipation of women"

Primary themes were:

• All people are born sinners
• Sin without salvation will send a person to hell
• All people can be saved if they confess their sins to God, seek forgiveness and accept God’s grace
• All people can have a direct and emotional connection with God\
• Religion shouldn’t be formal and institutionalized, but rather casual and personal 

If all this sounds suspiciously like Jonathan Edwards, you'd be right. He was considered the father of this movement.

It occurred in three phases, the later ones marked by the popularity of tent meetings, camp meetings, and revivals. There were waves of itinerant preachers who traveled all over New England and upstate New York. It is entirely possible Cassandria's mother and father, Joseph Herrington and Nancy Green, attended one of these meetings. Cassandra Hooper Bliss and her husband Asher were on the circuit. And  Cassandra was a local girl, she grew up in Oakham and Boylston, Massachusetts.

“One of the families that welcomed the Hooper daughters warmly was the Whites [the subject family of the book]. Cassandra was a committed evangelical Christian, and from her arrival in 1830 she and her sisters Avis, Lydia, and Eunice were frequent visitors to the White’s elegant parlor, while matron Mary and her daughters returned those visits to the Hooper’s humble home. The nature of the visits is clear, as they were frequently made in company with the minister’s wife and other active evangelical women. Cassandra had apparently embraced evangelical Christianity before her arrival in Boylston; her younger sister Avis was “received to our Communion” along with eight other converts in March 1834; her sister Lydia made her public confession in October the same year. Though the family had fallen on hard times, their religious commitment marked them as genteel and pious folk and secured their respectability among Boylston’s better sort.

“Then, with no warning or advance preparations, Mary White made a surprise announcement in her diary. At the close of the afternoon service on the Sabbath of September 2, 1832, thirty-year-old Cassandra Hooper was married to a Mr. Bliss, and the couple left almost immediately to serve as missionaries to the Seneca Indians. They would continue in that work in western New York for the rest of their lives."-From A Crisis of Community by Mary Babson Fuhrer

The second bit of confusion was the origin of Winslow Brainard's names. For a while, my mother was convinced that we were somehow descended from John Winslow, of Mayflower fame. She was disabused of that idea by a genealogist or historian who could find nothing linking us to him. Again, I suspect he was named in honor of two people who figured in the Second Great Awakening.

Octavius Winslow was a prominent evangelist and Baptist minister. Although he died early, his ideas made it to America and he was revered among the revivalists.

David Brainerd was a missionary to the Native Americans. He might have been forgotten altogether, but a biography of him by Jonathan Edwards was reprinted many times and boosted his influence. One of those periods of influence was during the Second Great Awakening. James Brainerd Taylor, his cousin, enjoyed popularity as an evangelist and was said to have been inspired by David's example.

I consider this a good example of when NOT to make assumptions in doing research about your family. There could be many needless dead ends in your research when you make the facts fit the theory and not the reverse. There's no way to prove my theory, of course, but I suspect I have unraveled this particular bit of family history.

Tapply Lumber

 

Charlie and Bob Tapply outside Tapply Lumber

Over the years, there have been a few pictures posted to the family Facebook group of the Tapply Lumber Building on Culley Street.  By the way, these wonderful pictures are thanks to Buzz and Tina Tapply. I'm thinking they were taken in the forties, just based on clothing, but the tail end of the car in the top photo may place this more into the fifties. Everyone assumes I think, that this is where the story begins. However, Charles Tapply Senior, or Charlie (as I knew him) began in lumber a bit earlier.

Going through the Fitchburg Sentinel, I found an ad for the original Tapply Lumber location.

Tapply Lumber at 245 Lunenburg St.

The location on Lunenburg Street, or Route 2a has a modern building on it. It's located near the crossing of 2a and the John Fitch Highway. With a little more searching I found the notice of the purchase of Culley Street and the fate of the old building.

October 1940-The purchase of Culley Street

This places the establishment of the Tapply Lumber as most of the family knew it in October of 1940. He and his son Robert Nathan or "Bob" took over the established business at that location.  Buzz, Chuck, and Launa all have memories of the inside of that building. Both Buzz and Chuck describe the basement, where the custom cabinetry was built and lumber was stored. The upper floor had offices and 17 semiautomatic lathes. They all describe the elaborate belt and pulley system suspended from the ceiling that ran across the whole shop and powered the machines. Chuck described barrels in the basement the size of a 55-gallon drum. You would put in the wooden turned pieces with scraps of sandpaper and it would tumble them smooth similar to a rock tumbler. Launa has a particular memory of the loading dock which you can see more clearing in the contemporary pictures below.

She said, "The area down on the right was a loading dock, inside on the left of it was a huge ancient scale about waist high. Behind that was bedrock graduating up to the ceiling(main shop floor and about 15-20ft beyond the spectacular elevator run with an ancient amazing big chain and wheels." The back of the building had been built right into the granite ledge!

So what did Tapply lumber produce? Anything turned; handles, spindles, decorative work for houses, cabinets... I found some ads that give you some idea of what came from their shop.

A few of the regular ads that ran in the Sentinel

The ad for the knotty pine confirmed what I had heard; Charlie Tapply built my grandmother's last home on Rogers Avenue. Brainard's bedroom was completely paneled in that knotty pine. When it became a guest room, sleeping surrounded by all that paneling was a real trip.

Buzz said that they also took part in a fifties craze. The tubing for the original Hula Hoop was made in Leominster. Tapply Lumber made the wooden plugs that joined the two ends and made the hoop. Chuck confirmed this and adds that the kids from the fraternities at Fitchburg State came to Tapply Lumber for the "paddles" used in initiations. 

And where did all the lumber come from? Well, Bill Tapply had a lumber operation in Brookline, New Hampshire. All in the family.

Bill and company hauling lumber

It wasn't all smooth sailing, however. There was a large fire in March 1951.

19 March 1951

It was a large enough fire to make the front page of the Sentinel. Here is a bit of their coverage.

“Although officials theorize that a spark from the basement boiler ignited shavings in a nearby waste bin, the cause was still being probed today…”

“The bulk of the loss was in the cellar where lumber was stacked. The office on the street floor of the one-story  brick and wooden plant was untouched as was the shipping room, storage room and the major part of the plant…”

“Flames lurked at the west end of the Mohawk Express Garage also owned by Mr. Tapply”

“Mr Tapply said that his full crew of 25 workers would work as scheduled today, despite the fact that heat destroyed some of the lathe belts. The lumberman also stated that the plant was engaged in ‘some government work’ including turnings for airplane emergency life rafts.”

Launa said the ceiling downstairs was never the same after the fire. Leave it to Charlie and Bob, they were open and running the next day.

Members of the younger generation also have fond memories of visits to the building.

Kevin Tapply said, "I have a few memories of visiting Grampa and Uncle Bob... I was enchanted with this overhead belt system that drove all the machinery. I can still remember the smell of the fresh-cut wood"

And Mark added  "I'll always remember all the sawdust. It's not that much different from my shop where I build cabinets today."

Charlie left the business eventually and Bob bought him out. Bob continued, according to Launa, until his death in 1977.

Here are a couple of more contemporary pictures of the building. In the first, you can see the loading dock. The second is from the opposite side of the building.

 Woodworking has definitely been in the blood of this particular branch of the Tapplyy family. My thanks to Buzz, Tina, Chuck, Launa and Mark for their help gathering information for this post.

Grandma Katie's Quilt

Katie Cooke Fitzgerald

 We've heard the story of Katie's birth in Ireland, her immigrant family, and some tales of their life in Boston and Charlestown. This is a much later story. After I was born in 1952, my mother renegotiated a relationship between my father and his mother and I was frequently taken to see her in her apartment in Charlestown. This is where  I think this picture was taken.

In 1957,  in another picture taken at Thanksgiving or Christmas, we see Katie on a visit to our house in Burlington. This is when I think the quilts might have come into the family. This is not the story of a master quilter, far from it. I was not aware that Katie even sewed. I only know that in the late 1950s two tied quilts came to Lee and me; hers was in pink binding and mine in blue. They were on our beds in our childhood every winter and were much loved. They saw hard service. Lee's eventually fell apart or disappeared. Mine came to me when my mom made her last move. I set it aside up in a closet thinking I would do something with it "someday".

Someday came during a pandemic. I was cleaning out that closet for donations and found the quilt. It was in rough shape: stained, dirty, and falling apart in places. I decided it would make a good project.

It was a higgledy-piggledy arrangement of 2-inch charm squares set in a binding and backing of turquoise and tied, rather than quilted, with pink floss. Some places had orderly square corners and even seams, but sometimes things went off the cliff and small pieces were set in to make up the difference. The old fabrics were quite charming indeed.

There were whole sections of split or missing fabric, terrible stains, and other places where seam allowances dangled by a thread. And it smelled.

The first thing was to take it apart, wash the top, and see what was salvageable. So I began gently cutting the knotted floss, sliding out the ties, ripping the seams along the border, and easing the layers apart as kindly as I could. I put the top in a special quilt washing soap in the bathtub. Then I laid it gently over several lines of the clothesline so as not to stress the fabric. Immediately I began to see brighter color and things didn't seem quite so hopeless.

Now, this is a project that quilt conservators would run from. It's not a historic pattern, made by a master quilter. It's not actually quilted and its condition was poor. They would most likely say, 

"Pick out the best squares, make a pillow for remembrance and move on". But I'm stubborn. This is one of a very few things I have that came from that side of the family. It came from Katie as her gift to me. She may not have even made it; maybe she commissioned it from a friend. Who knows? As I examined it, I saw lots of 40's and 50's fabrics, but I also saw some rougher weave fabrics that may have come from old sugar or flour sacks. I also began to see a method in the madness. She actually used the 2-inch squares to make blocks of 16. Some of these were in pretty good shape. It might still have life as a wall-hanging. The turquoise border and backing were obviously new fabric at the time and in the best shape. So I decided to separate out blocks of 16, add the turquoise as a lattice for strength, and create a wall-hanging.

I began to pick out blocks of 16 and make repairs. Where the seams were shaky, or there were holes or splits, I used a light-weight fusible called Misty Fuse and pieces of muslin on the back. I replaced missing squares from elsewhere in the quilt. It started out with over 1, 000 small squares.

I was able to save about 500;  twenty-five blocks of sixteen and enough left over to create a running border. I didn't fuss too much with making every block the same size or perfectly square.

After I had the blocks assembled I laid them all out and arranged and rearranged until the rows measured more closely the same length and the arrangement was pleasing. Then I began joining the blocks and rows with the turquoise lattice. I tried to make things as even as possible, but I didn't fuss. The center would be an homage to the original, warts and all.

I took a picture of the back to show the extent of the repairs. It's a lot, I know, but I wanted to preserve whatever I could. The border squares were in the worst shape, but I think the border in the finished work is charming.

 I added plain muslin on all four sides to make up the difference in the size of the quilt.

I thought a long time about what should go in the "sandwich" that makes up a quilt. I was cautioned that traditional batting would put stress on the old fabric when I tied the quilt. I decided that a length of flannel would be the best choice. I joined two lengths, added a muslin backing, and basted the whole thing together. Now it was time to tie the quilt. I used the same shade of pink as the original on the old work and a shade that matched the muslin on the new work. This also took a bit of time and patience. It was a good project for pandemic movie-streaming.

Last, I cut a muslin bias-binding and bound all the edges. I added a pocket to the back of the quilt which will contain as much as I know about it and instructions for its care.

My nephew is the only child to come from my generation. He may not want a quilt on his wall. He may not appreciate its charms. But I hope he will put it away along with its story. Someday he may have a daughter, a granddaughter, or a daughter-in-law who will love it as I do. Maybe someday, someone will be curious about Katie and the Irish side of the family. At least if it doesn't hang on a wall, it can live in a chest of family memories. Someone will enjoy Katie's story.

The quilt enjoys a place of pride in my livingroom

A Pioneer Remembered

 

Montgomery Street, San Francisco, 1850

This year, 1850, was about the time that Michael Stinson Cooke arrived in the United States from Ireland. He spent some brief time in New York and then traveled west. What strikes me about this image is what is missing. You see some concentrated building in the foreground and the hills we know well, bare, in the background. Now imagine far beyond those hills, in the area we now call "the avenues" at the far west end of present-day San Francisco.  That was where Michael and his family settled. Imagine how far that was by wagon from Montgomery Street and what passed for "civilization".  

left: Alene Murphy Solari, top: Eva Piratsky Murphy, bottom: Ann Cooke, right: Mary Anne Cooke
Piratsky

 These are the women of the Cooke family sometime just before 1905 when Mary Ann's mother died. Mary Ann died in 1932, and in October the Oakland Tribune published a remembrance of her remarkable life and memories. Possibly it was largely penned by her husband James. I'm going to transcribe it here because it lends great color to the story of her life.

Oakland Tribune, Sunday, Oct. 2 1932

Of the Old San Francisco

"Of the old San Francisco was Mrs. Mary Ann Piratsky, born here seventy-seven years ago. Her death at Watsonville, where her husband James G Piratsky has been a newspaper publisher for some years, has brought out reviews of an eventful and inspiring life. Daughter of San Francisco pioneers, Michael and Ann Cook, Mrs. Piratsky always claimed the distinction of being the first white child born in that metropolitan area now embraced between Larkin Street, the Golden Gate, Seal Rocks, and Twin Peaks. She often related how the shack in which she was born was built with lumber that, painstakingly, was transported a couple of pieces at a time on the back of a mule over the only trail out to where her father settled. The trail started at the corner of Bush Street and Grant Avenue (just blocks from where the photo was taken) (at that time know at Dupont Street, one of the principal streets of San Francisco) and wound its way over the sand dunes out to the Odd Fellow Cemetery,  which property was then known as "Cook's Milk Ranch". Cook took up considerable land thereabouts, and in partnership with a man named Williams owned all of Lone Mountain, which mountain was sold by Cook to Archbishop Alemany for $150, in later years because a movement was on foot to take over the mountain and on its top bury David Broderick (who had been killed in a duel...), Cook said he did not want the grave to overlook his holdings, and strenuously objected to the proposal. Fearing that the people of San Francisco would take the land away from him, he arranged the sale of the mountain to the bishop, and thus stopped the movement. Archbishop Alemany, in after years, sold off from the base of Lone Mountain over $50,000 worth of lots, and still had the mountain, which the church is now grading off to erect thereon an educational institution.

On the Peralta Rancho

The Cook family, when Mrs. Piratsky was about four years old, moved across the bay and took a lease on a large tract of the Peralta Rancho, about where Berkeley is now located. Cook raise grain on this tract and did so well that he was enabled to return to San Francisco in a year or so, and erect a two-story residence on P. Lobos Avenue (then known as Geary Street) which he occupied until his death, some fifty years afterwards. Thus it will be seen that Mrs. Piratsky lived in a pioneer age. One of her prized possessions was a book "Annals of San Francisco", which was awarded to her as a prize at the Denman Girls' High School, then located at Bush and Mason streets. Especially interesting was the account of the escape of the Irish patriot, Terence Bellew Mc Manus, from Sydney, Australia, where he had been transported by the British Government. McManus was a prominent Irishman, and the British Government was extremely glad when he made his escape in a vessel sent to Australia by the Irish revolutionists. In fact, England didn't care if he never came back. Mc Manus made his escape to San Francisco and was given refuge by Cook, who was also one of the revolutionists. McManus took up and settled upon, as a ranch, the greater portion of what now comprises Golden Gate Park. He died from the hardship incurred in Australia and was taken back in great state to Ireland where he was given an immense funeral. His sister, Isabel McManus, was swindled out of the property by squatters instigated by some of McManus' professed friends. The Cooks befriended Miss McManus until her death. Mrs. Piratsky was at her best describing the McManus affair. Her first school was the Sisters' School, connected with an orphanage attached to St. Patrick's Church, which church was then located on the site now occupied by the Palace Hotel. Across the street, where the Crocker bank now stands was an immense sand-hill. The corner was once offered to Cook for a couple of hundred dollars. The offer was turned down. Also turned down was an offer made Cook that if he would clear off the sand-hill on the corner of Bush and Montgomery (on the same street as the photo) streets, he would be given one of the corner lots. The site was afterwards occupied by the Occidental Hotel.

I love the sleight-of-hand pulled by Michael on the city of San Francisco. They were looking, at the time, for a place to have large cemeteries. Michael foresaw seizure by eminent domain and sold to the bishop for a Catholic cemetery. Later all the cemeteries moved down to Colma. University of San Francisco, a Jesuit college, was built on the spot and remains there to this day.

As to his revolutionary leanings, it would certainly explain his very early exit from Ireland in 1850. He was eldest and would have inherited the lease on the land in Clooningan. That passed to his brother. I don't doubt that he had revolutionary sympathies, but it also wouldn't surprise me to find out that the McManus clan were cousins of some sort. I haven't found any McManus names yet in my tree, but the records may not be there. This was very early.

Mary Ann Cook Piratsky had a remarkable pioneer life in San Francisco. It's always so rewarding to find first-hand accounts in your family history.

A Trip to the Fair

 

The California Midwinter Exhibition of 1894

The California Midwinter Exhibition of 1894 was held in Golden Gate Park, just steps from Mary Ann Cooke Piratsky's parents' home. It was held from January to July 1894  following on the heels of the Columbian Exhibition in Chicago. The driving force behind this was Michael DeYoung, then publisher of the San Francisco Chronicle. Many of the exhibits from Chicago were brought west by DeYoung in addition to a number of new exhibits. There had been an economic downturn at the time, and DeYoung was looking to boost the local economy. The man who designed the layout of the fairgrounds was chief engineer Michael O'Shaughnessy. San Franciscans will recognize that name from the street and Muni route into the park named for him.

The Fairgrounds from Strawberry Hill

The family connection here has to do with Mary Ann Cooke Piratsky. She was married to James, and seems to have been living in Hollister at the time. She was not allowed to write under her own byline, but wrote for men at the Hollister Freelance. The press pass labels her a photographer. Perhaps, she did a bit of that as well. James was beginning a long career in journalism. More about that later.

James and Mary Ann Piratsky

Mary Ann's press pass

Some of the landmarks we know in Golden Gate Park date from that period. The building devoted to Fine Arts later became the DeYoung Museum.

The Fine Arts Building

And the Japanese Garden later became The Japanese Tea Garden visited by so many people and one of my favorite places.

Marsh's Japanese Village

But this was not without controversy. The developer of this exhibit wanted rickshaws drawn by real Japanese men. The Japanese community protested and the idea was changed...German men in makeup and costume pulled the rickshaws. Despite this misstep, the garden itself was salvaged by Park superintendent John McLaren and became the lovely place we know today.

 In addition to the coverage from Hollister by the Piratskys, it got a front-page in January in the Los Angeles Herald and in June from the San Francisco Call.

LAHerald - January 1894

San Francisco Call- June 1894

Everyone seems to have made their money. Perhaps this coupon explains the illustration at the top of the post.

Ticket sales were brisk, according to the papers and school children especially enjoyed the attractions.

The Midwinter Fair, as it was called, drew nearly two and a half million people during its run. By any measure, a success. 

John T. "Johnny" Cooke

Go to full screen if the size bothers you.

The Battle of Fredericksburg- Returning to the Story of W. B. Rogers

One of the five pontoon bridges being laid across the Rappahannock

For the Battle of Fredericksburg, we have to rely for and account of movements on the historic record. No doubt, Winslow B. didn't want to worry his wife and family. The stories in the paper at the time were lurid enough.

The History of the 36th Regiment tells us this:

After shelling failed to dislodge the Rebel forces from the city, five pontoon bridges were laid and the order was given to cross and advance on the city. W.B.'s unit was part of the Ninth Corps. under  General Burns.

    "That morning, several divisions of the Ninth Corps. were early in line; and as they reached the Fredericksburg side of the river,  they were placed in position to the left of Sumner's Grand Division, and just below the city. In crossing, a few men were killed by the enemy's shells that fell short of our batteries at which they were aimed. Two men of the Thirty-Sixth were in this way slightly wounded.

    That night we moved up into the city, and stacking guns spent the night on the sidewalk and in the deserted homes in rear of the guns. Early on the morning of December 13th, preparations were made for the approaching battle. Burns' division of the Ninth Corps., to which our brigade belonged, was assigned to a position below the city. There, across Hazel's Run, behind a rise of ground, we remained under arms in reserve, listening to the roar of artillery and musketry as the battle raged along the line from left to right expecting every minute to be called to participate in the terrible conflict; but no orders came until afternoon when we moved further down the river, crossed Deep Run and were placed in front of the Barnard House covering the lower pontoon bridge. At dark, the 36th moved forward and supported a battery in front of the Sligo House."

    There was apparently a plan to engage the Ninth Corps. in battle the following day, but it was abandoned. The army advanced into the city and found it deserted. To the great disappointment of the men, they fell back to their previous encampment.

Map of the Battle showing the position of the 36th Massachusetts

We know that the battle raged for four days and despite some advances was not considered a success. The 36th seems to have been held in reserve for a second charge that never came, a disappointment for the men, but fortunate for W.B. There were many Union losses.

The attack at Fredericksburg

Here is W.B.'s account:

Fredericksburg, Virginia 

December 15, 1862

Dear Wife,

       It is Sunday noon and I am sitting on the wharf of the Rappahannock. The bank of the river is crowded with troops and stacks of arms. We are having a terrible battle. It commenced on Wednesday at 6 o'clock in the morning and this is the fourth day. The firing has been less for two hours but I don't know but it will be resumed again worse than ever. We are in the possession of the City. We encamped in the city night before last and stayed on the floor of a little shanty in the yard of a nice rebel mansion. The buildings are completely riddled with shells and some are burned. The city is worse than burned. Oh the horrors of war no one can imagine unless they see it. I will give you an account of my experience of the battle. We were ordered to be ready to march at 8 o'clock Wednesday morning without knapsack. We formed our brigade just before our camp and stood until most sundown. We marched down towards the city about 3/4 of a mile and then turned about and marched back to our old camp and pitched our tents and stayed until morning. We were then ordered to fall in about daylight and started for the City. We crossed the pontoon bridges onto the wharf about where we are today and stayed there until dark and then we marched up on to the street and stayed until morning. We then started and marched about half a mile out and stood until most night. We were then ordered to fall in. We double quicked it a little farther through the mud and were drawn up in line of battle and stood until dark and then laid down on the ground until half past two. We then started and marched through the mud and water I suppose several miles and formed in line and were ordered to lay close on the ground expecting every moment a shell would come over. We laid until it begun to be light. We were then ordered to march back to where we lay the day before which proved to be about a hundred rods. We stayed long enough to make a little coffee. We were then ordered to fall in and marched double-quick to where we are now. I have not spoke of the firing. We have not fired a gun in the 36th Regiment yet but there has been a continual roar of canon and popping of musket shot but the shells have been flying over our heads the whole time and some burst near us. One piece came within a rod of me and some were wounded in sight of me. Most sundown. We are laying here yet and I must finish my letter as the chaplain is ready to take the letters.

From your husband,

W. B. Rogers

    Seven years ago this month, I began writing this blog. I had done just enough genealogy to discover a few things about Winslow Brainard and his family. There are still some mysteries to be uncovered. I hope this inspires my readers to delve into their own family stories. 
Happy Blogiversary to me!

A Life's Mission

Sister Columba (Belinda Cooke) probably on an celebration of her vows

Meet Belinda Cooke. Belinda would be my first cousin, twice removed. She was my great-grandfather Michael's  niece. Here's a small tree to help keep it straight.

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Belinda had five brothers and lived on the family farm in Clooningan. She was born in 1898, so this would have been long before much knowledge of modern illnesses, much less treatment. At some point in her childhood, she got polio. The family story is that she prayed that if she were cured, she would devote her life to missions.

In the early twenties she made good on this promise and went to the Convent of the Good Shepherd in Limerick. From there she went on to France, probably the mother house in Angers for her training as a teacher. At some point she took her vows and became Sister Columba. She took a trip home before going on her assignment and announced to the family she would not be back. Her assignment took her to a convent and school in Mysore, India. 

Sister Columba on the right with Anne Leonard

You can get some idea by checking out the background in the picture. You can see the students and a bit of the school and convent. My cousin, Anne Leonard, worked for an airline and was able to visit her.

And this also gives you some of the "flavor" of her world.

She also kept up a lively correspondence with her nieces and nephews in Ireland, Canada, and the United States. The letter I'm quoting from is from her to her grand-nephew Jimmy. My cousin Denise kindly shared.

"You asked what subjects I teach. Well, dear I teach every subject except 2nd language and that is always the language of the country so I cannot teach it. Our classes here are very big I have over fifty. They are mostly all bright intelligent children. Last year I taught the boys, this year I have girls. Of course they are mostly all pagans; that is the sad part of it."
I suppose this attitude, though a little uncomfortable for us, is not unexpected for a nun at the time. And she devoted her life to teaching them, so I can't fault her for that. I used to think classes of thirty were too big, I can't imagine fifty! She wrote another letter to Denise herself, but it is mostly personal and about family.

I usually do a lot more research on the people I blog about, but with a nun that's rather hard. Plus her order has fallen under a bit of a cloud, so information is hard to come by.  This isn't the only person in the family to take vow, but she is in more recent memory so there are picture and relics to tell the story. And she kept her promise in a way I find admirable.

Plague

Katherine Rhodes-Fields from The Plague Doctor series. All rights reserved.

What could be more appropriate today than a plague doctor in his mask? It is certainly nothing new in the history of mankind. You might remember my post about how one small town where my Rogers ancestors lived dealt with an outbreak of smallpox. And how some surrounding towns took a more bloodless approach. Check that out here.

The plague of the 19th Century was tuberculosis. Before it was understood that a particular bacteria caused the disease, crowding, poor sanitation and poor hygiene killed large numbers of people in this country who contracted TB. No surprise, when people were removed to cleaner sanitariums they often recovered. I was startled to discover how many of my relatives died of tuberculosis as I worked on my tree. Finding them all to list them would have taken the better part of my month at home. So I chose the most striking examples. I would find some really well-kept registers that listed "consumption" or "phthisis pulmonalis" as the cause of death. That's TB. There were probably many others, but before good records were standardized, an early female death would easily have been either childbirth or TB.

Jennie R Smith- Nov 1880

This is one of the saddest records I found. Jennie was my great-great-grandfather's youngest sister. She died at just nineteen. The worst part was that out of twelve children in this family, only 3 lived to adulthood. Jennie almost made it. On the same page recording her death in Waltham I found many other TB deaths.

Another story was that of the family of Moses Rogers of Holden. He was my third great grandfather's brother. In his family he lost 4 children to tuberculosis, one to typhoid, one to typhus and one to cancer. Seven out of his eight children. Some in adulthood, to be sure, but still... 

I think  about the things that killed people in the 19th century: disease and childbirth. Old age was a luxury. People were accustomed to death in a way we just aren't. And accustomed to outbreaks of diseases we have long left behind. On the register page with Jennie's death I found tubercular meningitis, tuberculosis and six cases of diphtheria.  The outbreak at one point was so severe that people blamed vampires and began doing strange rituals to stop it. You can read about that here. Bleach and toilet paper hoarding may be more logical, but no less hysterical.

Josephine Payne Fitzgerald 1910

This last record is the death of my great-uncle Robert Fitzgerald's wife Josie in 1910. Even then, tuberculosis was taking lives. Her infant son died the same month of  "lumbar pneumonia", but who knows whether she passed it along to him?  Robert was left to raise my cousin Katherine until 1917 when a freak accident killed him and she went to live with my grandparents.

I found stories like this all through the family tree as I have worked along. Now to be sure, tuberculosis was a slow death. People knew the outcome and had some time to accustom themselves to the eventuality; the average TB patient lived three to five years. There were no airplanes. People traveled less. The spread would have been slower. And living in an age where we are inoculated against the biggest killers of previous ages, we have no reference for what we are seeing today.

Here's a thought. Picture your family tree as a very large inverted triangle with you, the "distillation" at the very bottom. That image reminds me again of something that struck me early on in genealogy: I am the result of survival of every possible type of calamity. My ancestors survived pandemics, deaths in accidents, death in childbirth, war, famine  just to name a few. My very existence is a kind of miracle. Until I did genealogy, I never really grasped or appreciated that. 

Today, I do even more.