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  1. #21
    Famous for offering help & advice
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    Default A day in the life of...

    A DAY IN THE LIFE OF EVERETT THOMPSON, A MEMBER OF THE YUKON FIELD FORCE

    CHRISTMAS DAY 1898
    FORT STEELE, KLONDIKE, YUKON TERRITORY CANADA


    First of all here is a bit of background about me.
    I was born in 1872 in Glanford, Ontario. I am the 6th of 16 children, sadly 2 brothers have passed away and one of the triplets was stillborn .
    I have worked hard on the farm all my life and recently joined the Canadian Militia serving with the Royal Canadian Artillery ( Permanent Force) . I am one of 203 men selected to form the Yukon Field Force.
    We arrived at Fort Steele this past October after the longest journey of my life. We travelled across Canada on the train arriving in Vancouver in June. Once in Vancouver we were sent north on a steamer ship to Wrangell, Alaska. Then we transferred to a river ship and proceeded to Glenora and then to Telegraph Creek, British Columba.. Finally we were back on dry land and that’s when the trip really began. It then took us 2 more back breaking months hauling our supplies with the help of pack horses and mules and our own man power over land and mountains until we reached Teslin Lake. We then had to build scows and small boats to navigate the river until we reached Fort Selkirk where are barracks are set up., although we spend most of our time in Dawson City, helping the Northwest Mounted Police keep law and order and also guarding the gold shipments..


    Good morning…..!

    Today is Christmas. It certainly looks like Christmas! All this snow and is it ever cold! The snow is squeaking under my boots and I had to chop a hole in the bucket of water with the axe this morning before I could make some tea. It is dark! It will be dark almost all day so things should be peaceful in this land of greed and ill repute. Because it is Christmas no one will be transporting gold so I shouldn’t have anything to guard today.

    I am missing my family this morning. When you come from a family as large as ours Christmas is a time to get together. My parents were married Christmas Eve in 1862. Our family is poor, but at Christmas we always had candy for a treat and along with the turkey ( one of our own) my mother made a delicious round plum pudding…English style. None of that up here in the cold and dark.


    Good afternoon…!
    Everyone needs a bit of time for themselves on this special day. After our Christmas service conducted by the local chaplain I went for a walk. Although there is snow, it is not too deep, even in the thicker forest. As I strolled through the twilight which is daylight for this time of year when you are so far north in Canada I met a few of God’s creatures. A majestic moose drank his fill from the fast flowing stream and several small birds flitted from tree to tree. Somewhere the wolves were howling sending shivers up my spine, but it is Christmas and a time to appreciate this great country we live in and thank God for our riches in life. The peacefulness of the mountains and forests make the day feel very spiritual.

    Everyone needs a bit of time for themselves on this special day. After our Christmas service conducted by the local chaplain I went for a walk. Although there is is snow, it is not too deep, even in the thicker forest. As I strolled through the twilight which is daylight for this time of year when you are so far north in Canada I met a few of God’s creatures. A majestic moose drank his fill from the fast flowing stream and several small birds flitted from tree to tree. Somewhere the wolves were howling sending shivers up my spine, but it is Christmas and a time to appreciate this great country we live in and thank God for our riches in life.

    We had our Christmas dinner at noon when there was a bit of brightness to the sky. The cook had several succulent grouse and a large piece of moose meat on the fire, along with our daily ration of beans and we have managed to save a few potatoes to have with it. In this cold, desolate place fresh vegetables are very few and some folks are starting to show signs of scurvy. I sure miss the pit we have dug on our farm at home which will contain a lot of our summer harvest from the garden. What I wouldn‘t give for some green cabbage or crunchy carrots!

    It’s now evening!

    There’s a young English chap, ’bout the same age as my brother George, who is a clerk at the Canadian Bank of Commerce who is writing poetry of his experiences in the Klondike. Today for a special treat he recited some of his poems around the fire. His name is Robert W. Service. I do believe some day these poems will make him famous! I have always enjoyed poetry and listening to Robert today was a nice escape from listening to disgruntled miners fighting over a gold claim when any of any value have already been snapped up.

    I am looking forward to learning to mush a team of sled dogs… I can manage a team of horses so a team of dogs should be a breeze….Next Christmas I will diary that event.

    Some of the other chaps were hoping some of the dancehall girls would put on a performance for us…just because it is Christmas, but sadly it was not meant to be. This evening has been spent in the barracks as usual, playing cards with the other chaps by lantern light. All in all, a pretty good Christmas Day!

    We were, however given a dram of whiskey for a special treat and I savoured mine when I got back to the barracks to prepare for the night.
    Soon I shall be snuggled in bed with several layers of clothing to keep warm and I will dream of Christmas with my family in Ontario and perhaps of Christmases to come with family of my own. My oil lamp is running low so I will blow it out and retire now.

    The Yukon Field Force was established from infantry, artillery and cavalry and were based in Fort Selkirk, Yukon and Dawson City Yukon to help the North-West Mounted Police maintain law and order during the heyday of the Klondike gold rush. Eight out of ten people in the Yukon at this time were American and this posed a huge threat to the security and sovereignty of Canada. ( from the Canadian Encyclopedia)

    Everett Thompson was one of my great uncles. His brother James was my paternal grandfather and was one of the first white men to smoke a peace pipe with the native Indians in the town of Lytton, BC.
    When Everett’s time in the Yukon was finished he returned to southern Ontario and married Etta Nelles in June of 1903. Etta died in 1931 and Everett married Margaret Jamieson in 1935. He worked for General Electric for 41 yers and was known as E.T. to his co-workers. Although Everett and his wives never had any children he loved children and was very involved as a Sunday School teacher for over 35 years and with his 2nd wife’s great nieces. I never met Everett as I grew up in BC and he was in Ontario, but one of those great nieces was my classmate at the small college I went to and I got to learn a lot about him and see many pictures. ( small world!) Everett died in 1965 and yes, he really did meet Robert Service in the Yukon! ( The poetry reading is fictional…..maybe!)


    Sue

  2. #22
    Knowledgeable and helpful stepives's Avatar
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    Default A day in the life of a daughter.

    I’ve been waiting for this day for years and years; at last my Mother is tying the knot. She’s been a single mother too long I reckon, about time she had company after all this time.
    It’s a bit strange though, she marrying her nieces and my cousin’s father in law. Talk about keeping it all in the family. Strange where love takes you I suppose. She’s known him for ages, and his wife Fanny. And what’s even more strange than that, my sister Mary has married my mother’s fiancé’s son. It fair gives my head a spin, as who is who in the family.
    My sister Mary never met her father, a bit like me I suppose. All mother knows, his name was Edward, and he went to South Africa and never came back. She looked for his death in the papers, but it was a bit of loss without a last name. Mother says Mary has got his smile, and I will say it lights up a room when she walks in. Almost as pretty as me she is.........but her smile is a joy. She got the ring that her dad bought for mother, but mum never wore it, just kept it on chain around her neck until Mary got married.
    Mother never let on who my father was, so there must be some ill feeling somewhere along. It has been embarrassing on the odd occasion, no more so when the Vicar asked for my father’s name at my marriage to George. So me and Mary are in the same boat I suppose, not a father to be seen between us, but we turned out alright. I had it easier then Mary I suppose, my Uncle John & Aunt Mary brought me up, ‘cause Mother was always working away in Aylesbury in some posh Hotel. Mary was in the workhouse for 4 years or so, as Mother couldn’t stay at the Hotel with a kiddie.......but she got through it all ok, I think.
    My daughter Julia is going to be a bridesmaid for her Grandma.........she’s nearly four years old now, so I hope she behaves herself. Her dress was made by Aunt Mary, but I did all the lace trimmings for it, and embroidered the little pink roses on it. It looks a treat. Mothers dress is rather plain, but she says at her age, anything fancy is just too showy. She is over fifty years old, so she may have a point......but she sure doesn’t look it. I think old John Orchard has got good catch there.......I say he’s old, but he’s ten years younger than mother........just hope Mother hasn’t fibbed about her age. Oooh, I got the giggles now thinking about that.
    George cleaned the carriage this week, but he had to borrow a pair of horses, as one of ours went lame, and we can’t use a stranger with old sooty, because he’s a bit peculiar like that. Anyway, George says you can’t mix a strange horse in a pair, but what do I know......a horse is a horse, as far as I’m concerned. He’s at them as I speak, he’s doing a good job with them.......he’s plaited their manes, polished their hooves......they do look a treat, I must say. I’ll give them a woman’s touch closer to the wedding this afternoon. Mr Cummings, the blacksmith had to repair the carriage, something to do with the wheel hub.......whatever that is, but he says he’s done a temporary job, as the whole thing needs replacing in the near future. Knowing Mr Cummings, his temporary fixes last for years.
    Mothers having a moment of panic, she’s lost her new stockings somewhere........they can’t be far away, not as if they got legs and run off. I can see them from here, and I’m sat in the doorway taking the sun, and watching my man brushing the horses. I suppose I’d better get them, before she has a real turn. Here you are Mother, but you won’t need them yet, as it’s over 4 hours before you get wed. You have plenty of time, so calm down and come and sit a while with me, and I’ll make a pot of tea for us all. She almost swallowed her words, when she said.......’how do you know how I feel’, and then burst out laughing. She is genuinely a funny woman, always having a laugh. Mary says she should be on stage as a comedienne. And talking of Mary, here she comes from next door; she must have caught up on the gossip. I’ll pour her some tea, and give George a call so he can join us. He’ll no doubt take his mug, and sit with the horses, and leave us women to natter. Our daughter Julia seems content today, she has plenty to amuse herself with in the garden. Just hope the contentment last’s through the service later this afternoon. She made no fuss at her baptism, she slept right through it. Oh well, time will tell.
    Mother has arranged a man that will take photographs of her wedding.......he’s fairly new to the town, and he has a small studio at the end of Duke Street. He’s been there about three months now, I think, and by the look of the pictures in the window, he does a good job. I daren’t ask mother the cost of such things, but it will be nice to have more than memories. I’ll ask George if we can ask the man, if we can have some extra ones done of our family. They will look nice on our parlour wall. I wonder if he could get our whole extended family in one picture, now that would be nice. Nearly all the family will be leaving from here for the church, so hopefully we can have a picture taken in garden. I’ll nip around and see what he says.......I best ask George first.
    My George is a treasure; he likes the idea, and says it will be something to leave our Great Grandchildren. I wonder how many we will need, and how many Grandchildren will we have. Oh, and I have some news for George, but I’ll tell him after my Mother has wed.
    Four pounds and three shillings and four pence, I think that is too much, but George says that’ll be alright. I didn’t ask how many pictures he will be taking, but I would guess there’ll be plenty.
    More tea Mother, and how about you Mary, more for you. I’ll make another pot, because I’m sure Mister tea belly out there, will like another mug full. Mary is brushing Mothers hair, and when she is ready, I’ll plait it and raise it in a bun. It will show off her slender neck, and her string of pearls that her John has bought her. I would think Mothers figure hasn’t changed much at all since her early years. One thing I do know, she’s never worn those horrendous bone stays to keep her figure. He’s always had a slender waist as far as can remember, and it runs in the family, because Mary and l have a waist most women would kill for. Oh, that sounds so vain.......but some of the sights I’ve seen, where women have squashed their waist line so much that the rest of their body, above and below, has expanded. They can hardly breathe, and walk like a stuffed chickens. Oh there I go, being rude and cheeky still. One day I’ll be overheard, and vengeance will be swift.
    Mother hair is thick, but as soft as silk. A dark nutty brown in colour, with the tell tale signs of ageing.......grey in other words. I can sort that out, so she’ll not have to worry about that today. Mary has put it in one large plait, to keep it tidy for now, but I’ll arrange it later before she goes to the church. I take George his mug of tea and by now Julia is in the carriage, and enjoying her father’s attention. He dotes on her at every free moment; you can see the joy in his face as he makes her chuckle with funny faces. He sings her lullabies at night, and you can hear his mellow voice throughout the house. It’s not the first time I’ve took a nap, listening to the sound of his voice. Perhaps he should be on stage, as a second act to mother.
    Two hours to go, till mother gets wed. Still no urgency to get ready. The Church is only two minutes walk away, or three minutes carriage ride, I can’t see why mother needs the carriage really. Oh well, it’s her day, so she’ll do as she pleases. We have a new Vicar at the church, well a curate, he’s been with us nearly a year now, George King is his name. We’re waiting for a new Vicar, but I would think Mr King might be with us a good while, as he seems to be well liked. He can also sing far better than the previous Vicar, so that maybe why. I’m not sure of the politics, regarding curates and vicars, but I would guess it would be money, I don’t know and neither care, as long as he meets all our needs and we’re all happy with our lot. His only misfortune, if I can call it that, is he is rather on the short side. It is not a problem whilst he’s in the pulpit, but when he’s not; he seems to vanish in thin air. We can hear his voice very well, but it hurts the eyes when straining to see him. There I go again, my cheek runneth over.
    It looks like my mother and Mary have dozed off in the sunlight........oh, and Julia has fallen asleep in George’s arms. What a scene of tranquillity to behold. I think George will soon be off, I can see his eyes giving way. I’ll take a walk to the church, and see what preparations are left.
    Hello Grandpa and Granma, I bet you’d never see the day of our daughter’s marriage. Seems funny me saying that. I’m sure she’ll be happy, as you know John, and were always fond of him as a child, as mother recollects. I see Mary has given you fresh flowers, they do look better in a vase, and last that bit longer. Julia comes to see you, but she’s unaware why at present, given her age. But I’m sure she’ll carry on, once she understands your significance to us all. Bye for now will see you later. Oh that’s really pretty; the posies at the end of each pew look really wonderful. I have never seen that done before. Blue bells and daisies, extremely pretty. Mrs Angood has done a marvellous presentation for mother, and all of us it seems. And more cushions on the pews, someone has been really busy this week. I could never understand, why pews should be so uncomfortable, when we go to church for comfort. I think comfort of the body is as important as comfort of the soul. I just hope they remain forever. I best get back and wake the bride and bridesmaid.
    I’ll just prepare a some bits of food to eat, as it will be a good while before get the chance again. Cheese and apple, and a few slices of bread and butter that should keep us going. I’ll make more tea to wash it down. Mother, Mary, George......come and join me in the kitchen. George carries Julia in his arms, but she is awake and her eyes are drawn to the apples. We sit at the table, and pick at the food with our fingers; it’s a far better way to enjoy these small morsels before us. I’ll pour, says Mary.......who has sugar. George clears away, as us women get ready for the big moment.
    Julia will be last to get ready, as I want her looking clean and tidy at the last moment. Come on mother, sit at the mirror, and I’ll set your hair. I undo the plait and comb through her hair once more. I divide her hair into for bunches, and make each a plait, I then curl each one to the back and side of her head. Using egg white and a good many hair pins, I manage the task in hand. Told you mother, easy easy. What do you think? Her head turns left and right, and she gives me a smile and a nod......that will be fine, that’s grand enough. Mary and I are just having one plait in our hair, so we do each others, as we have done before. Two ribbons of pink and white, and our hair is done. Mother asks where her ribbons are, but I have a surprise for her. Let’s get your gown on, and then I’ll sort you something special.
    Her gown was a simple affair, cream in colour, with large flowing lace cuffs, a high neck with a lace trim. Buttoned from the front, in two rows from the waist to the shoulders. A lace train from the shoulders just short of the floor. The train has small pink flowers embroidered all over the lace, with a very thin pale green lace edging. Her Lace gloves match the train, with the same flowers and green trim. Opening the wardrobe door, and I removed mother’s veil from the rail. Her eyes lit up at the sight of this gossamer like spiders web of silk lace.......it was almost a mist over her face, as it was so fine. Her face said it all, a vast beaming smile, and not a word said. She was speechless for the first time in her life.
    Ok Mary....let’s get ourselves done, while mother gathers her wits. It took us a few minutes, as we were well rehearsed. Here’s our shoes mother, all of us with matching shoes, covered in cream silk. We stood together and looked in the mirror. Job done I say......said mother.
    Julia had sat there watching us in amazement.......your turn, I said. She stood up and waited for her dress to be lowered over her head.......it was almost the same as mothers, but it had less flowers and no train. Her hair was a shock of curls, and was gently brushed just to tidy it up. A lace bonnet topped her off.......beautiful.
    Mother waited upstairs, as the rest of girls went down to a house full of relatives, you never seen such a site of country toffs. My man George looked a peach, smart as a new pin. Mrs Angood had brought our bouquets around, and quickly ran off to get ready herself.
    Ok you lot, out the back for a photograph or two. The all filed out the back, nearly thirty of them in all. George had set a few chairs for us ladies to park ourselves. Mr Forcette, had already set his machine up ready for the taking of out portraits, or whatever you’d call them. The mother walked out, and you could hear the intake of breath. She’s a stunner alright.
    Six pictures and we’re done, it seemed to take forever.........don’t move, hold your breath, don’t blink.......we were close to corpses by the time he took them things. He quickly gathered his machine up, and he and his assistant headed for the church.
    Then mother dropped it on us.........’George, we’re all walking to the church, but I’d appreciate very much, the use of the carriage from the church to our supper. Is that alright’.
    ‘Okay Ma......fine with me’.....said George. ‘Just need to get them out of harness, and in the stable. I’ll keep the tack on them for later.’
    So after a few minutes, we filed out of the house and gathered in the road to sort us all out in order. Mother in arm with George, then Julia behind mother, and Mary and I followed on. Everyone else fell in line of two. Looked like a military parade, but so much better.
    We walked down the footpath to the church, and there was Mr King to greet us.
    Just before we walked in, mother turned and stroked our faces, Mary, Julia and myself. Mother, daughters, and Granddaughter. What a day it was.

  3. #23
    Hilda Woodley
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    Default Rebecca Elderkin

    REBECCA ELDERKIN born in Cambridge in 1879, the youngest of 6 children of Isaac Elderkin and Ann Elizabeth Longland. The family managed well enough in the slum conditions of those times and Rebecca grew up in a happy and loving home but, in March 1882 her older sister Francis Mary and brother Herbert Isaac died . Everything changed when in June her mother died of TB. From that time life became very difficult for Isaac having to work and care for two young boys and three year old Rebecca so, in desperation, he sought the help of the Community Sisters who, at that time, operated a school in Cambridge. The Sister who knew Rebecca wrote in the Whitsuntide 1892 edition of East and West (the Magazine of the Community)

    “Whilst working, some ten years ago, in the slums of Cambridge, Becca first came under our notice. It was in this way. We had a little unpretentious Church School for the poorest of the children in the parish in which we worked, there being none other near, except the higher grade National, where the fee was ninepence per week (a School Board was unknown in Cambridge then). Attached to our humble “College” as we used to call it in our fun, was a special class for infants, whom we admitted at the tender age of two years, for the sake of relieving the mothers whilst they were at work at the Colleges, properly so called.
    At the school door, one morning, there appeared a man, who said he was a bricklayer's labourer (Isaac), and with him were three boys and Becca. The Sister informed the man that the school-room was full, and the most she could do was to admit the two younger ones (Percy Thomas and Rebecca), and advised him to send the boys, of ten (William) and eleven (Robert) years, to a Boys School. But the man and the elder boys were not so easily disposed of. He stood and pleaded and pleaded till he got his way. What woman's heart could stand against their having no mother, no-one to do for them, to see after them in the streets, if the elder boys had to go farther away, and the speech ending something to this effect - “I did think if I brought them to you, you would mother them a bit?” So room had to be found and enquiries made. No; none of them were baptized. He had belonged to the Wesleyan persuasion. Yes; he would come to Church and he would have his children baptized, and he had no objection to either (All four children were baptized on 18 December 1882). He did not know whether Becca was two or three years old, but her birthday was on some day in August. Of course, a frock had to be found for Becca's Baptism, and thus early she developed the besetting sin of her sex, and would not submit to having the old one put on, the next day, till nearly noon.
    One morning, soon after this, she was again missing from school, and Sister was told that Becca was ill. The Sister went to see her, as soon as possible, and found her suffering from inflammation of the lungs, and utterly refusing to take any nourishment. The poor little thing was never strong, and was also deformed. It seemed that on leaving school the children had all gone to play by the river; that Becca had tumbled in; was fished out, and attended to by a kind neighbour, who left her in bed when she went to her duties in one of the Colleges; but that the boys, afraid of their father's anger, and hoping to conceal the matter from him, directly she was gone had got the child up and dressed her in some of the clothes, when only partially dried. Do not be hard on them – they were only boys, and certainly did not know what they were doing; and we are well aware that the poor little mite was never intentionally treated unkindly by them. To go back to Becca, we felt in rather a fix about her, as it was impossible to nurse her in her own home, not to speak of necessaries or comforts – there was not accommodation for a female. The doctor was consulted, and it was decided there was as much risk to leave her where she was as to move her to better surroundings. The father stood out against the Hospital, said she was sure to die if taken there, and that his sister (I believe this should read wife) had died there, and that was enough for him – so we took her to our own home; a Sister carrying her safely wrapped up in an old wadded quilt like a bundle. A good deal came with her, uninvited, that was very objectionable: the poor little creature was as dirty, in every sense of the word, as could be. She shrieked at the sight of water, and no wonder; but coaxing and petting, and an appeal to vanity, eventually won the day, and accomplished what was necessary, and in a few days the transformation was great. Her father was astonished: he could not think what had been done to make her look so nice, and said he never knew before she had such pretty hair; and neither did we. For some wise purpose, the little one's life was spared, but the weakness and delicacy were insurmountable. Better food was not appreciated. Becca craved for the fleshpots of her Egypt, and was constantly crying out for cabbage, “b'ed and d'ipping,” and “d'ops of tea.” How to let her go back to her Egypt we did not know. The late Mother Superior came to the rescue. In one of her visits to Cambridge at this time, she saw the fragile little creature; interviewed the father, who thankfully accepted her offer of taking the child to Ditchingham; and here she has been ever since, till a few weeks ago, when God in His wisdom and love removed her to a still better home. When first taken to Ditchingham, she was received at the Hospital till she was strong enough to be with the other children at the Cottage; and here her short life, a happy little one too, has been spent, loving and loved, for she was a general favourite. Christened Rebecca, “Becca” was left behind at Cambridge, and became “Rebie” at Ditchingham, and had a birthday found for her – St Bartholomew's Day, 24 August – and the change in the name was not greater than the change in the appearance of their owner, for never did child respond more to, or rise more with, its better surroundings. One of the Sisters communicated with the father from time to time, and kept alive the child's remembrance of him, till she could write herself. She managed to do this when she was six or seven years old, and anxiously looked for what we thought and said would be her first letter that the postman had brought her; but the childish epistle was returned, and caused a great deal of pain in the little one, in spite of our trying to make her think it was grand to have a letter on H.M.S. And so the father was lost sight of; the Sister who knew him thought he must be dead, but did not, of course, impart this fear to the child; but, consequently, the remembrance grew fainter, and except the mention of him in her little prayers, he was seldom spoken of, as time went on. “ (Isaac had remarried and moved to another part of Cambridge with his younger sons, Percy Thomas was my husband’s Great Grand father)

    Excerpt from the Hospital report.
    “Among our patients last year was R.E., a dear little girl of about eleven, who has been under the shelter of All Hallows since she was three years old, and of whom some mention has been made in the account of our Industrial Home.
    Always of a delicate constitution, during the latter part of last year she began to waste away rapidly, so she was brought to the Hospital, to be under medical treatment; but no skill or care availed to arrest the progress of the disease, and it soon became evident that her young life was drawing swiftly to its close.
    Loving, patient, and contented, industrious, and ever ready to help others to the utmost of her declining powers, she became a great favourite in the ward, and with the visitors to the Hospital.
    One of them, an eminent novelist (believed to be Ryder Haggard), who was settled in our neighbourhood, was unwearied in his loving attentions to the frail little creature, and often sent his children to see her, and bring her little gifts. The very day she died, he happened to come, as he often does, to visit the patients. Knowing the child would like to see her kind friend once more, he was taken to her bed-side.
    It was touching to see the tall man, in all the vigour of his manhood, bending tenderly over her, supporting her on his strong arm while she drank a few drops of stimulant, the only nourishment she could take, then laying her gently back on her pillows, bidding her farewell with a kiss, as lovingly as he might have done to one of his own little ones.
    Little R., industrious to the last, only laid aside her needle the day before she died; and even with her failing breath, never omitted the gentle “Thank You,” which had always followed every little service rendered to her.
    R. shared gladly in the ministrations of the kind Chaplain who ministered so faithfully and unwearingly to the spiritual needs of our patients. “

    Extract of the Entry from the Burial Register of Ditchingham.
    Rebecca was buried on 3 March 1892 recorded as age 11. (she was 13 years old)

    Rebecca is buried in the Parish Cemetery of the church at All Hallows, all the early Sisters are buried there in one corner and Rebecca is amongst them. Her grave has a smaller cross than the Sisters.

    The words 'In loving memory' are still visible. The rest of the inscription is covered by grass with just the words

    Rebie Elderkin
    Fell Asleep 27th Feb 1892


    Compiled in remembrance of Rebecca Elderkin, by Hilda Woodley, wife of John Henry Damerall Woodley, great grandnephew of Rebecca from information kindly provided in April 2010 by Sister Rachel of The Community of All Hallows, Ditchingham.

  4. #24
    pippycat
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    Default

    A day in the life of Elizabeth.

    It was the shouting and arguing that woke me up, again, its very dark so must still be night. My parents are both drunk and fighting again. Happens all the time but now I can hear Grandmother shouting as well, she usually stays in her room but it must have been the sound of things crashing and breaking that made her join in.

    Now I'm awake, scared and cold, 2 coats on the bed are not enough to keep me warm and I can't sleep with all that going on.
    Not that it matters because I know in a while I shall be very warm with him lying on top of me - oh please, I pray, don't let him come in here again, I don't like it.
    Maybe the prayers of a 4 year old don't get through because 'it' happens all the time...but thats what fathers do and I expect there are other little girls like me who wish it would stop.

    The next morning my parents seem different to last night, they even walk without falling over and seem the best of friends as they go off to work.
    We are left with Grandmother. She clears up the mess and gives my brother his breakfast - a huge bowl of porridge and milk, it looks lovely, and I have a piece of dry bread. At 4 years old you don't complain, especially to HER.

    I know Grandmother is going out because SHE is putting her shoes on and my brother already has his coat on. Its not fair, I would like to go with them, but I never do because SHE doesn't like me.
    I can hear the front door closing from this tiny dark coal cellar where SHE leaves me. It smells and is all lumpy to sit on. Its not cold but you can't move around much - its worse after the coal man has made a delivery, sometimes theres only a tiny gap to sqeeze into after the door has been shut.

    I hope they aren't out for too long, I'm scared and eating coal makes you thirsty.. Its so dark and I know there are spiders, they sometimes scuttle across your legs. But I've been told not to make a sound ("or else") so I scream quietly inside. If Im lucky I fall asleep and don't know where I am.

    I'm always in trouble when SHE comes back, my clothes are dirty and if I've wet myself she slaps me saying you can't put wet coal on the fire...and SHE is so rough with that flannel on my face.

    I wish my parents were home, I don't care if they are both drunk because thats when I get something to eat and SHE stops pinching and slapping me.
    We had stew with lots of my favourite carrots, and I had a big cup of milky, almost tea, to myself...that soon washes away the coal dust.

    SHE sits in HER chair in the corner and listens to the wireless. My brother shows me his new colouring book and crayons and says I can colour a picture. Im going to do the big flower with red and the leaves green, I like red.
    My parents are upstairs shouting and fighting, its probably over the bottle of "cough medicine" they share. They must always have a cough to be drinking that medicine all the time.....but it doesn't matter because Im going to do some colouring. Till SHE takes away the book saying I will only break the crayons.
    I start crying because I so wanted to use the red crayon, but she slaps me and tells me to go to bed...you don't argue with HER.

    Elizabeth didn't start school till she was over 5 years old, and this was her life day in day out...night in night out.

    One day SHE punched 6 yr old Elizabeth hard enough to show bruises on her face.
    The bruises and red eyes from crying were at last spotted by her parents and that evening it all came out.
    Her brother said Elizabeth was locked in the coal cellar every time they went out, SHE was always hitting her and never gave Elizabeth anything to eat or drink.
    SHE had threatened her brother with dire things if ever he said anything about it - I suppose HER little gifts every day were the sweetener for him.

    The father removed his mother from the house that very same night - SHE was only ever to be seen by Elizabeth once after that. It was 4 years later in a shop where Elizabeth left after SHE refused to serve her.

    The 'it' went on till Elizabeth was 10 years old, who knows why it stopped, but her mother never would believe 'that sort of thing' happened in her house.

    Elizabeth is still alive today, she went on make her career in the RAF...she never married saying she had enough of 'that' when she was younger.

    Rebecca

  5. #25
    Jan1954
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    The Winter 2013 competition is now CLOSED for entries..... but is now OPEN for voting!

    Please read through the entries and place your vote. The poll will close at 4pm GMT on Sunday 17th February.

    Thank you for all of your contributions – they have made for some absolutely fascinating reading.

  6. #26
    Super Moderator Sue Mackay's Avatar
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    If you click on Thread Tools in the blue banner above #1, then choose Show Printable Version, this will either make it easier for you to scroll through all the entries or, as I have just done, print them out to peruse in comfort over a cuppa, with a pen to hand to mark my short list.... except I think it will be a long list
    Sue Mackay
    Insanity is hereditary - you get it from your kids

  7. #27
    Knowledgeable and helpful stepives's Avatar
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    I've cut and pasted the stories to an email, and sent them to myself.

    Steve.

  8. #28
    ellyjane70
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    as they came in, I copy/pasted them and saved them to a scrapbook for my grandchildren

  9. #29
    Jan1954
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    Quote Originally Posted by ellyjane70 View Post
    as they came in, I copy/pasted them and saved them to a scrapbook for my grandchildren
    What an excellent idea!

  10. #30

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    I have voted. The standard is so high it was hard to choose. All the stories are so different, I had a wonderful time reading them. Makes me wish there was some way to put them together into a collection or something...
    Sadly, our dear friend Ann (alias Ladkyis) passed away on Thursday, 26th. December, 2019.
    Footprints on the sands of time

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