IN THEIR FOOTSTEPS

A Sunday in September had been designated as national Grandparents day. I sat

in church listening to a sermon message about how important our roots are in our
lives. And I meditated about how blessed I was to have known both my paternal
and maternal grandparents.
History has always been of interest to me and I believe that is what led me to
genealogy. Once you have been bitten by the genealogy bug, it can be a driving
force in your life forever. Daniel Webster once wrote, “We live in the past by a
knowledge of its history; and in the future by hope and anticipation. By ascending
to an association with our ancestry; by contemplating their example and studying
their character; by partaking of their sentiments and imbibing their spirit; by
accompanying them in their toils; by sympathizing in their sufferings and rejoicing
in their successes and triumphs, we mingle our existence with theirs and seem to
belong to their age.”
People can draw strength from knowing what their long-ago relatives
accomplished and endured. The thrill actually comes from the learning experience
as you place yourself in another’s shoes and in another time. Because of my
daughter’s and son in-law’s residence in England at two different times while he
was serving in the U.S Navy, I was able to take advantage of their hospitality and
spend some time there, and also have transportation in a private automobile to
visit other locations.
I made four trips to England during which time I went to North Yorkshire on three
different occasions. This narrative doesn’t necessarily relate my travels in
sequence of happening, but includes my impressions of the country from which
my maternal grandparents came, so please bear with me. There are, of course,
many documented findings pertaining to our ancestors and their place of birth.
I have gone back to my own memory and those memories of my mother and
siblings as well as those of my cousins for some of the material. There is much I
could have learned had I asked questions years ago, but alas, hindsight is not very
productive. Older people are reservoirs of knowledge and experience and we
should invite them lovingly to share and to enrich our own lives.
The following description of Ebberston was extracted from the History, Gazetteer
and Directory of the East and North Ridings of Yorkshire publish in 1840 and
authored by William White; “Ebberston parish has a pleasant village,
picturesquely seated 6 miles East of Pickering, on the Scarborough road and on
the verge of the marshes, on the north side of the vale of Derwent, at the foot of
an amphitheater of hills finely clothed with wood. It contains 509 inhabitants and
6350 acres of land including the farms of Bickley and Deepdale among the high
moors north of the village. George Osbaldston, Esq., is lord of the manor and his
seat is Ebberston Lodge, a delightfully situated mansion on the plan of a Roman
Villa, built by one of the Hotham family at the foot of the woody acclivities above
which is Alfred’s cave, a small recess in the rock in which King Alfred is said to
have taken shelter after a battle fought here. The church (St. Mary’s) stands in a
secluded dale and is a vicarage to which the curacy of Allerston is annexed, in the
patronage of the Duke of York, and incumbency of the Rev John Ellis. It has 31
Acres of glebe, allotted at an enclosure, about 70 years ago. The Wesleyan and
Primative Methodists each have a chapel here.”
Rev. John Ellis is the Vicar who married Thomas Vasey and Hannah Dowsland in
1842 in St Mary the Virgin Church in Ebberston, N Yorkshire. Thomas Vasey (my
great great grandfather) and Mary Vasey were the parents of four children. He
was a laborer and a church warden at St Mary’s from 1810 – 1812. Their children
were:
Abraham, a son born in 1815, baptized March 24th, 1815
Maria, a daughter born in 1818, baptized February 16th, 1818
Jane, a daughter born in 1821, baptized March 15th, 1821
Thomas, a son born in 1824, baptized April 11th, 1824
Thomas Vasey born in 1824 was my great Grandfather, the father of George
Vasey. On September 16th 1842, Thomas Vasey aged 18, a bachelor, servant, son
of Thomas Vasey, a laborer, married Hanah (her spelling on the marriage
certificate) Dowsland, aged 20, a spinster, servant, daughter of Frs Dowsland, a
laborer. Thomas Vasey’s name was written on the certificate followed by the
words “his mark” and an “X” indicating that he was illiterate, which was a
common characteristic of the culture in England at that time. Hanah signed her
name in a neat script.
Thomas and Hanah Vasey were the parents of nine children listed as follows:
William, born November 23, 1842, died April 18th 1848
Jane, born July 22, 1846, married Tom Jenkinson
George, born January 21st, 1849, married Margaret Tindale
Frank, born March 27th, 1851, married Mary Dutchborn
Dowsland, born December 6, 1854, married Flora Lavina (Sis) Hadley
Mary Ann (Polly), born January 21st, 1857, married David Akers (Polly was a
common nickname for “Mary Ann”)
John, born January 21st,1859, married Jane Hadley
Elizabeth (Libbie), born January 25th, 1864, married James Langdale
Thomas, born January 9th, 1867, married Delia Jones
Thomas Vasey, the father, died July 1st 1894, at the home of his son Frank. Hanah
died September 13th 1888. They are buried in the brethern cemetery near
Holmesville, Nebraska. My brother Leland, his daughter Alta, my husband George
and I, set out from Kensington Kansas one rainy day in search of their burial site.
We drove to Holmesville, which is near Wymore, Nebraska and stopped at the
post office of this small town. We talked to the postmistress, explained our
mission, and asked if she could assist us with information regarding the cemetery.
She gave us directions to a nearby rural home in which the sexton lived, and said
that he might have a plot plan of the cemetery. We found him and the rest was
easy. He directed us to the Brethern cemetery and we had no problem locating
the graves. I took pictures, but had no chalk or paper to make rubbings of the
grave marker. Later, other members of my family did make the rubbings so I now
have them in my possession.
We searched the churchyard in England for a headstone for William, Thomas and
Hanah’s oldest child, but without success. That may be explained by the fact that
some of the earliest markers were simply tall slender slabs of stone on which
mortar had been applied and names and dates then applied on them with a sharp
pointed object. Time and the elements have taken their toll and the mortar has
fallen away leaving only the stone to mark the gravesite. There are other
explanations of course. When we wanted to read the names we traced the
letters with our fingers but the surface was much too rough to get rubbings. We
were unable also, to find a gravesite for William Tindale, Grandma Vasey’s
Grandfather, in either of the cemeteries.
My Grandfather, George Vasey, was born January 21st 1849, in Ebberston N
Yorkshire, England. From the records of St Mary’s Church we learned that he had
been christened on February 17th 1849. My Grandmother, Margeret Tindale, was
born March 31st 1850, in Manchester West Yorkshire, England. Her parents were
George Tindale and Agnes Marsden Tindale, have not yet documented her place
of birth and am still working on that. We found a small village about 12 miles
from Manchester called Marsden and drove around looking for perhaps a castle
or ruins but found nothing at that location. Margaret’s obituary contains the
information that she was confirmed at St Mary’s church, which is Ebberston’s
parish church, at the age of 14.
On my last trip to England in 1990 I planned to spend Christmas with Diane and
Bill and arrived on December 6th. I was a little apprehensive about travelling as
this was to be my first trip alone and as a diabetic. However, the trip went
smoothly and they were at the airport when I arrived. The next morning in
Cheltenham I awoke to the sight of 10 to 12 inches of snow on the ground. This
was an unusual happening as they had not seen snow there in over 10 years. The
city was paralyzed, all the roads were drifted shut and there was very little snow
removal equipment around. We made plans to go to Brompton after Christmas.
A few days after Christmas, Bill arranged for a few days of leave and we prepared
for the trip.
Our route was to take us north to Harrogate, then to the American military base
at Menwith Hills which would then be our base of operations. Our motorway
took us past Sherwood Forest where Robin Hood, the legendary hero, and his
gang lived and carried out their activities. I have read since that in 1784, in
Hathersage, a grave was opened and inside lay the remains of a man seven feet
tall, thought to be little John, one of Robin’s men.
We drove for several hours, and finally arrived at our planned destination, ate our
evening meal and settled in for the night. Menwith Hills is in N Yorkshire and
since it is an American Base we were able tyo buy gas cheaper than English prices.
Also, our accommodations included their guest rooms and American meals at the
officers mess hall. It was extremely cold with patches of snow still in the shady
spots and icy underfoot. I would lay in my bed at night and listen to the sleet
beating against the window, and in the morning, Scott, my grandchild, would run
to the window to see if the puddles of water had frozen over… and they had.
After breakfast, we started out hoping to find and retrace the route grandma
Margaret might have taken to Ebberston. We went north to Ripon, which she
mentioned in a letter in 1907, where some cousins lived and where they had
visited. I presumed they were from the Tindale family. The city is a bustling
modern metropolis now and we stopped just long enough to take some pictures.
Our road went through James Herriot country along the ridge of the Pennines, a
low range of mountains running east and west across N Yorkshire, and continued
on to Scarborough. When Grandma travelled as a young girl, she probably took
that road as it is the most direct route from Manchester and most likely they went
by stagecoach to Ebberston.
By the time we got to Brompton, it had started to rain. This was disappointing to
me for I hoped to get pictures of the home where the Vasey’s lived. My cousin,
Don Coe, had given me original pictures from aunt Fannies collection and the
messages written on the reverse sides pointed out who lived in the houses and
which was her birthplace. In spite of the rain, after Bill parked the car we used
the camera while standing at the spot from where the old pictures were taken.
On one occasion we felt obliged to go into what was now a newsstand and store
to explain why we were taking pictures in the rain. We told the proprietor why
we were there and guess what, she was a Vasey. She recognized the houses from
the old pictures and told us how to find them, also that the first house on the
street had been hit by an errant bomb during World War II and destroyed. We
found the corner of High St. and Church St. and the house, took some more
pictures and returned to Menwith Hills.
We were on a limited time schedule and had no opportunity to go back to
Brompton, so we started back to Cheltenham the next day and it was still rainy.
We did stop to go through York Minster, the York Cathedral. Parts of it had been
damaged by a big fire since I was there the first time but the damage had been
repaired and it was just as magnificent as before. Diane tempered my
disappointment at not getting pictures by promising to go back and take them
before they left England, which they did a few months later. Nothing changes
much in those villages through the years.
The marriage Banns for George Vasey and Margaret Tindale were published at All
Saint’s church on November 19th 1871. It was traditional to publish the notice
(Banns) of an intended marriage in the parish church of the espoused, and still is
to this day. The marriage was solemnized on December 23rd 1871 at All Saint’s
Church in the parish of Brompton, County of York. The marriage certificate
declares that George Vasey, 23, Bachelor, Miller, Brompton, son of Thomas Vasey,
gardener, and Margaret Tindale, 21, Spinster, Brompton, father George Tindale,
Joiner, were married in the church of All Saint’s according to the rites and
ceremonies of the church by H Rees-Webbe in the presence of James Medd and
Jane Calvert. Both George and Margaret signed the certificate. Margaret used
the spelling “Tindale” for her last name.
In one of Grandma Margaret’s letters written in 1907, she wrote “I found my old
friend Sarah Ann Medd here in Scarboro. She lives near here. We often go up to
see her, Jim Medd died last January,” It is a fair assumption that he was Sarah’s
husband and the same James Medd who was a witness at the Vasey’s marriage.
George and Margaret Vasey were the parents of thirteen children, listed as
follows:
Agnes Margaret, born July 11th, 1873 and died February 11, 1949. She married
Oliver Coleman.
William Wellman* (later Jennings*), born June 20th, 1874 and died January 30th,
1949. He married Margaret Brennan.
Hannah Elizabeth, born May 21st, 1876 and died May 12th, 1884. She married
Charlie Paine.
Thomas Alphous (Max), born December 2nd,1879 and died June 9th 1913. He
married Lavina Sactsinger.
Henrietta Ellen, born March 17, 1881 and died January 27th 1977. She married
Claude Paine.
Frank Tindale, born June 23rd, 1882 and died 1971. He married Cora Brennan.
Cora Louella, born June 6th, 1884 and died 1961. She married Archie Harouff.
Oliver Dowsland, born June 12th, 1887 and died January 23rd, 1904.
Estella Anna, born September 26th, 1889 and died December 25th, 1980. She
married Franz Wangerin
Walter George, born January 14th, 1891 and died July 3rd, 1943. He married Ruby
Leopold.
Albert Lawrence, born April 12th, 1893 and died 1989. He married Inez Marshall.
Ruth Evelyn, born January 12th, 1899 and died 1978. She married William D Coe
*Addition to the authors text: William listened to a rally by American politician
and Orator William Jennings Bryan and was so taken by the speech that he
immediately resolved to change his middle name to Jennings after that of his
esteemed hero – edit on behalf of Williams grandson Bill Vasey
Having made the decision to go to America, they prepared for their voyage. With
them came Grandpa’s parents, Thomas and Hannah, and Grandpa’s parents,
Thomas and Hannah, and Grandpa’s siblings who were still in England, Tom John
and Libbie, as well as their first seven children. It must have been difficult leaving
your entire personal support network behind and going to a new land where the
culture was so different and almost everyone you met was a stranger. Parents
with seven little children under the age of ten would find it increasingly hard and
George and Margaret would need a tremendous amount of courage for such a
course of action.
They sailed aboard the Majestic from England (date and port of embarkation
unknown) and landed in America on April 22nd 1883, presumably at a New York
harbor. They would not have passed through the Ellis Island Immigration station
as it was not operational until 1892, so their records are not a useful source of
information. I have searched volumes of passenger lists through the years and
have never found their names listed. An “expert” on passenger lists was a
speaker at one of our genealogy meetings, and she said that it was not unusual
for families with children to travel by steerage on the ships. Steerage in a
passenger ship is that part allotted to the passengers who travel at the cheapest
rate. She said that only those passengers holding first class tickets were listed on
many manifests. If this is true, I may never find their names, but I’m still looking.
The following excerpts were taken from Elsie Paine’s version of the Vasey history
“Grandma Vasey had two brothers and a sister, Agnes. Her father died when she
was quite young and she was raised by her grandparents, and apparently did not
know the rest of the family very well. Her grandparents lived in what had once
been a castle. She said that her grandmother was red-haired and Irish and her
name was Betsy.
Grandpa Vasey’s father worked as a gardener in England. Mother (Aunt Fanny)
said she was taken to him once before they left there, and since English gardens
are formal, with paths, her idea of gardens for a long time was paths. She was
about 4 then I think.
Uncle Frank told me he was the first to come to America. He worked on the docks
and listened to the sialors talking, and he decided he wanted to come here. He
landed at New Orleans, married a woman he met on the boat, and settled in
Illinois. Then Uncle “D” decided to follow as soon as he had saved enough for the
passage money. He arrived at New York and walked all the way across a strange
country to Illinois. Aunt Polly came when she married.
Our grandparents came early in 1883, shortly before mother was 5. I think they
were true pioneers In that they left everything and everyone they had ever known
and brought seven children to a new and strange land where they knew almost
no-one, and so far from home they had no chance of returning. Grandma was not
an adventurous person, Uncle Frank was a small baby and Aunt Etta was a sickly
child and was quite small. They took her straight from the ship to a hospital for
treatment when they arrived. With them came granps”s parents and the three
unmarried children, Libbie, John and Tom. Aunt Libbie stayed with cousins in
New York, and uncle Jim followed on the next boat and they were married there.
The rest of the family came to Illinois.
The first year was a hard one, Hannah who was a family favorite died, and
grandpa and some of the others contracted malaria and were not able to work.
Aunt Sis said that uncle D, married by then and with two small boys, was so
disgusted that he talked of going back to England. She refused to go and he
threatened to go and take the boys with him and go anyhow. Her family had
moved to Nebraska and she persuaded him to follow them and try it there, then if
he still wanted to return to England, she would go. The whole family, except the
Akers came, and the parents are buried in eastern Nebraska near Holmesville.
Later grandpa’s family moved to Alma.
Grandpa had two aunts in England. One, aunt Fannie, seems to have been sweet
and gentle, and aunt Bess quite a peppery old lady. She had some money and left
it to a few of her nieces and nephews – none to grandpa as she was displeased
with him for some reason, and none to uncle Tom because she thought his letters
about the wonders of this country were lies.
Grandma was always a little homesick for England and her old home. Then, in the
fall of 1907, grandpa and grandma, uncle Frank and aunt Mary, uncle D and uncle
John went back for a visit, and from then on she was glad that this was her home
and that her family had been brought up in the U.S.
From my mother, Estelle Wangerin, came this information. The family went to
Taylorville, Illinois, first because aunt Polly and aunt Janie lived there. They
stayed there a year but it was too rainy and the climate did not agree with them
so they came to Barneston, Nebraska, near Liberty. Barneston once held within
its boundaries the site of the ancient village of the Otoe Indians and their agency
buildings. As early as 1873 there was a trading post at the indian village where
Barneston was located. A town grew when settlers and land seekers came. Then,
later, the Vasey’s lived between Blue Springs and Beatrice on a farm where my
mother was born in Gage county.
Mom said, “Granpa Vasey came to Alma, Nebraska, on an immigrant train. A
group of Beatrice people came at the same time, all looking for land to buy and
settle. Grandpa shared a boxcar with a lawyer named Mr Harden. He put a team
of horses, a spring wagon, and a dog on the train, and took his sons, Willie and
Frank, with him. He bought 160 acres of land with a small house on it in Harlan
County near Alma, Nebraska, with borrowed money (?), and moved his family
there. Max stayed with uncle Frank and Aunt Mary who then raised him, as they
had no children of their own. Grandpa raised nothing the first year and the
grasshoppers came the second year. But he persevered and prospered, gradually
adding acreage to the farm.
The young man who had begun with a dream for himself and his family at the age
of 34 in England had reached his objective. He had not wanted his children to
become indentured servants owned by barons or landed gentry to do with as they
pleased. He wanted them to have the opportunity for an education, he wanted to
own his own home and have some land to support his large family, and he
wanted religious freedom. All those ideals he found in America.
The Anglican communion with the mother Church of England is established by
law. England is divided into two provinces – York and Canterbury. Each province
is divided into dioceses and each dioses is sub divided into parishes. All Saints and
St Mary’s parishes are governed by the Dean or Archbishop of York. The church is
known as Episcopal in other countries, such as the United States or Scotland etc.
My mother said the Vasey’s became members of the Evangelical United Brethern
Church in Nebraska.
As a young child, I always found visiting the Vasey farm an adventure. There was
a tall Silo, a little mysterious to me as we were cautioned not to play too near it. I
suspect it had some danger from livestock and the temptation to climb. There
were also, Guinea hens which we didn’t have on our farm. They were small and
had dark grey plumage with white spots and a comb resembling that of a quail.
They were valued for their eggs and meat. Then there was the burro which
grandpa purchased just for his grandchildren to ride. I have a photograph of my
brother, Clarence, as a young boy sitting astride the back of that gentle animal.
So many memories!
Many of his descendants have heard the story about the car he bought, a model T
touring sedan, which he named Sweetlips. The story describes the time that
grandma was sitting in the back seat with a basket of eggs on her lap and they
were going to town to the market. It seems grandpa lost control of the car going
down the lane and took off across the rows in the cornfield. I don’t know if any
eggs were broken as they bounced across the cornfield but I heard that grandma
would never ride with him again after that scare. My own memories of that car
were different. More than once I sat straight and tall on the front seat alongside
grandpa as we left the farm, going down the lane to the main road on our way to
town. As we approached the railroad tracked Sweetlips always stopped. Grandpa
she did that to “stop, look and listen” before proceeding across the tracks to
make sure it was safe. In my child-mind I believed Sweetlips had the human
ability to think. After all, she had a name, didn’t she?
My father at that time was driving a 7 passenger Buick touring sedan. We made a
35 mile trip to Alma on many occasions to stay the day. Sometimes Aunt Polly or
Aunt Libbie, or other great aunts or uncles were also visiting. Or maybe Uncle
Will or Aunt Maggie and their children, or Uncle Frank and Aunt Cora and their
son, or Aunt Etta and her girls were there to see grandpa and grandma. We
always joined the family and it was like a big party, with much laughter and love.
When my parents would arrive, grandpa would announce to grandma, “Here
comes Essie and her brood”. If it was winter time, the Buick had leather curtains
Isinglass windows. The curtains snapped onto the metal frame of the car, but
there were many places for the cold air to come in. When it came time to go
home, my father stopped in town, went into Petry’s bakery, bought fresh
hamburger buns, slices of cold meat and sweet Danish rolls. Mom would
assemble sandwiches – never mind there was no butter, mustard or other
condiments or anything to drink. She passed them out to us and we thought they
were delicious. When our hunger was satisfied, we pulled the cowhide robe over
ourselves and, snug and warm, we would sleep all the way home. There was a lot
of togetherness in those days.
I looked forward to summertime when school was out because with a little
preparation and some luck I would be allowed to stay with grandpa and grandma
between my parents visits to Alma. I was only four years of age when I started at
school, so I was still quite young when these stayovers began. There were two
double beds in the corner bedroom of the house in town where Elsie, Nellie and
Irene Paine slept. Irene was there attending high school. Somehow, there was
always enough room for a small body in one of those beds, and I’m sure those
girls took good care of me.
In the mornings, grandpa and I sat in the wooden swing suspended from the
porch ceiling and listened for the train whistle. He would say “We’ll go down and
get the mail directly” and when he thought enough time had passed for the mail
to be in the post office and sorted, we would start. He shortened his stride so my
short legs could keep up with him, help onto my hand and we walked downtown.
Sometimes we stopped at the Central Office where Aunt Ruth was a telephone
operator and we would tell her “hello”. In those days the telephone company
was “user friendly” so I could go inside and stand behind her tall chair and watch
as she worked at the switchboard. In order to make connections to complete
customer’s call, she had to pull a plug from its socket, stretch a cord across the
switchboard and plug into another socket so two parties could talk. It was
fascinating to watch this procedure. After a while, grandpa would continue on
our way, pick up the mail and go back to the house. If he had chanced to meet a
friend along the way, he always introduced me. I suspect he followed this routine
of getting the mail every day that he was able to.
I never tired of listening to him talk, he was soft-spoken and never lost his English
accent. My brother, Clarence, used to insist that grandpa was a Scotsman
because of his accent. The Yorkshire dialect sounds much like the Scottish accent,
probably due to the close proximity of Yorkshire to Scotland, which may have
intermingled the languages. They still speak that way today, and sometimes we
had to compare notes when we were there to make sure we had all heard
something said the same way. I was able to buy a cassette tape of Yorkshire
farming memories – a collection of songs, recollections and poems spoken by
Yorkshire people in their native dialect, and I have enjoyed listening to it on
occasions since.
George and Margaret had thirty seven grandchildren, several of whom were born
after the grandparents had died. Grandpa had more hair on his face than he had
on his head and his eyes crinkled up when he laughed. I don’t believe that I ever
heard him raise his voice to scold.
Grandpa loved children, and they loved him in return. He kept a bag of candy –
jelly beans mostly – in a drawer in his roll top desk. One of my brothers thought
he kept it in a safe but another brother and I remember that it was in a desk
drawer. We always knew there would be candy that would be passed out to all of
us. Sometimes there was a treat of an ice-cream cone for everyone. My sister,
Vera, likened grandpa to the pied piper of Hamlin as we trooped after him
downtown to the ice-cream store.
Grandma always had a flower garden. I remember hollyhocks and petunias. Even
today, when I see and smell petunias, it reminds me of her. There was an
oleander bush by the corner of the porch in town also. Grandpa delighted in
doing little things to tease grandma. A story I heard (I can’t vouch for its
authenticity) was that he once brought home an eel from the butcher shop for
grandma to cook. She was aghast and threw it into the back yard, or so the story
goes.
George Vasey became a naturalized U.S citizen on October 24, 1887. I do not
know if Margaret ever applied for U.S citizenship. Grandpa was proud of his
adopted country and became interested in politics in Nebraska. William Jennings
Bryan, a colonel in the Nebraska Militia, was a candidate for president of the
United States in 1896. Grandpa George had an opportunity to meet him and
shake his hand during Bryan’s campaign and enjoyed letting everyone know that
he’d done so. He was friendly and outgoing by nature and never knew a stranger;
he felt equal to any man, not in an arrogant manner, but because he had been
guaranteed that right under the laws of his new country, respectfully so. One day
he stopped at the office of the governor of Nebraska in order to greet his old
“friend”. When Grandma Margaret found out what he had done, she berated him
because he had visited the governor wearing his old clothes and not dressing up.
Grandma was reserved and believed in the refinements of as she had been
taught.
Grandpa’s patriotism was instilled in his off-spring. I have a copy of a composition
written by Aunt Fannie in 1939 which I think is so SPECIAL that I have included it
in its entirety just as she wrote it.
“WHAT AMERICAN DEMOCRACY HAS MEANT TO ME”
“People who are born to American democracy sometimes accept it as they do
sunshine and other God-given blessings, with greater or less degree of grumbling
and complaint regarding its character and quality.”
“It is those people who have immigrated from other countries with other forms of
government to become American citizens who really appreciate the great
difference between dominated lives and restricted liberty and the rights and
privileges known as American Democracy.”
“My story concerns a family, belonging to this class of immigrants, who have no
regrets for breaking old world ties and who feel much gratitude for the American
welcome and hospitality they received and for the kind of democracy they found
here to transform their lives.”
“I am a member of this family and have seen at first hand its growth into
Americanism. When my father was a boy, he was apprenticed to a miller and
thus learned a trade. His meager education was obtained at night school after he
had finished the day’s work. His teacher was often too drunk to be of any
inspiration to the boy who hungered for knowledge, but he learned to read and
write and became quite proficient in the use of figures. I used to admire his
ability to solve my school problems without the use of a pencil.”
“Mothers grandparents had given her a fine convent education and she and
father were anxious that their children should go to school. The flour mill he
operated provided a standard of living equal to that of his neighbors but there
was no extra money for school.”
“About the time I was born, agents of the steamship lines came to our
community, offering reduced rates to families who would go to America. They
told of wonderful opportunities in the “Land of the Free”, among them, free
schools.”
“Father had a vision of a better life for himself and his family. His enthusiasm was
further fired by the prospect of owning a home someday. Only nobility and
Gentry were allowed to do that in the homeland. The tenants had no vote in civic
affairs and were supposed to reflect the opinions of their landlords. The laws
were usually made to the disadvantage of the tenants.”
“If they objected, they were evicted and riots resulted. There was no redress and
conditions did not improve. Father had learned that by American democracy,
every man had a voice in making the laws and could choose his own religion.”
“Mother refused to believe “such lies” as she called them and at first indignantly
destroyed the pamphlets that came to the house. It was five years before she
consented to leave all her kin and friends, never expecting to see her native land
again, and with almost no money sail away with her husband and seven small
children.”
“Their faith and courage were surely great and were greatly rewarded. For in
America they found friends, freedom and prosperity beyond their wildest
dreams.”
“Hardships? Oh Yes! There were those too but there was always a chance to
work things out and a free, healthful, open-air life while doing so.”
“Because of our accent we were called Irish, English, Germans and Swedes. This
often caused grief and contention in our school days for we proudly considered
ourselves American’s.”
“My parents did make a trip back to their native country, shortly before the world
war. They found their former friends and neighbors earning the barest
necessities of life by hard work and poor pay and in their homes a low standard of
morals, much illiteracy, illegitimacy and drunkenness and their young men in
training for war.”
“Words cannot express what American democracy has meant to me, in comparing
the life to which I was born, with the life I have lived and enjoyed in America. My
heart is full of gratitude for a happy childhood with plenty of food to build a
strong body, school days and eager interest in lessons and companions. Then,
youthful days of home duties and in busy seasons, the joy of riding the lead horse
before the harvester cutting the beautiful fields of grain or of driving a team in
the field.”
“There is great satisfaction in learning to work and in accomplishment of
worthwhile deeds. Aside from work, we had many good times – singing, school,
spelling bees, dances, lyceums and Sunday school; memories which still thrill my
heart.”
“Rural school teaching began for me at sixteen and until my marriage, I know I
taught to the boys and girls the love of country which I lived and breathed as
fervently as I do now.”
“My husband was a man of high standards and unquestioned patriotism. He gave
to our children a rich heritage of American ancestry dating back to the
revolutionary days.”
“It means much to me that our children have had an opportunity to prepare
themselves to meet the problems of life and that they are the best type of
American citizens.”
“It also means much that my brothers and sisters are established in happy homes
and filling positions of honor and responsibility. I am happy to know that my
parents spent their declining years in peace and comfort.”
“These are but a few of the blessings I owe to American democracy. America and
its form of government are not perfect. Oh no! Only heaven can be that, but no
place on the earth can we find it’s equal in freedom or in safety today.”
“The home is the first place to implant the love of country. We must live and
teach it constantly to keep it alive and strong. American democracy is unguarded
when we become indifferent.”
“Pray God our ship of state may continue to sail through calm waters and we can
always sing --
“My country ‘tis of Thee,
Sweet land of Liberty.”
By Frances M. Paine
November 1939”
Somehow I feel that if she were alive today, she would be willing to forgive our
country its wars, demonstrations, Injustices, bad politicians, greed and mistakes
because it still remains the democracy she treasured, and we should too.
My paternal grandparents, August and Ulrike Wangerin, lived in a big house
across the road from ours on our farm. The two sets of grandparents were good
friends, and the two extended families for many gatherings with aunts, uncles and
cousins visiting and consuming lots of food. I have photographs of my two
grandfathers sitting together on a bench surrounded by relatives galore. These
families shared each other’s joys and sorrows, we learned from them by example
how to enrich our lives by being a close family.
Insulin was not developed until around 1922 and was not in general usage for
people suffering from diabetes until about 1929 – too late to be of use to grandpa
Vasey before the complications of the took its toll on his health. I remember so
well a Christmas time in 1926 when I saw my mother sitting in her rocking chair,
wiping the tears from her eyes. A few days later I sat next to Elsie Paine in church
at grandpa’s funeral; she held me close and comforted me as I grieved for the
man I had loved so dearly. Little did I know then that many years later, at another
Christmas time, I would be wiping tears from my eyes when my mother passed
away on Christmas morning in 1980.
George and Margaret’s final resting place is the Alma Cemetery at Alma Nebraska,
where several of their children rest also.
My connections with the Vasey remained strong after my grandparents were
gone. I still managed to spend time each summer with Aunt Agnes, Aunt Fannie
or Aunt Ruth on their farms and spent time with my cousins at their homes. I
went to Uncle Albert’s to help Aunt Inez after Bernice Ellen was born; by then I
was in High School. It was during my teens that I remember the last big Vasey
picnic I attended in Beatrice when we had to wear name tags because there were
so many people, and we didn’t know all of them.
After I came to California, Aunt Libbie and Uncle Jim and the rest of the Langdales
were here also. We spent pleasant days with them, Aunt Fannie and Elsie and
Aunt Ruth’s family for picnic’s from time to time in southern California. Aunt Etta
came to our house when Mother was visiting us; we could hear she and mom
talking and giggling far into the night after they retired. One year, on our way
back to California from Kansas, we stopped in Wyoming to Uncle Frank and Aunt
Cora. My children remember the “nice” man who let them climb one of his fruit
tree’s to pick plums. I owe a lot to my parents for the opportunities I had as a
child to know well this large family, of which I was a part and to which I belonged,
and about which I yearned to know more.
My husband George and I arrived in London the first time having flown from
Madrid, Spain, when Diane and Bill were stationed in Rota, Spain. We were to
join a tour group in London and to continue on to the European continent. As we
had a few days before they arrived, we decided to become “tourists” after
checking into our hotel. We took a train to Bath and Stonehenge one day, and in
London our method of getting around went something like this. We would board
one of the big double-decker buses, tell the conductor where we wanted to go
and he would either take our money or tell us the number of the bus we should
take, and we would get off the next stop. In this manner we were able to see
Buckingham Palace, St Paul’s Cathedral, The Tower of London and other places of
interest, although we often took a taxi. One day we went to the British museum.
I approached the reception desk, told the attendant that I was a descendent of
the Tyndale family and asked if I could be permitted to examine some of the
material the museum might have regarding William Tyndale. There would be only
one person allowed inside so George waited in the reception area and I was
ushered into a cavernous room, led to a long wooden table, and told to be seated.
An attendant brought a huge journal and placed it before me. As I opened it and
started turning the pages, I realized it was a record book. The writing was cursive
Old English and the spelling was Old English too – very difficult to translate.
Evidently Tyndale owned much land at one time and this journal recorded the
Tithes, measures of grain and livestock given him by his tenants. This was the
only book I was offered and it was a big disappointment for me as there was
nothing of a personal nature. I did wish for a camera like the spies in the movies
allegedly use so I could take pictures of some of the pages. The museum itself
was by no means a disappointment though. We saw the Guttenberg bible, The
Tyndale Bible, The Rosetta stone and many other items of interest. We left
England a few days later.
Our second trip to England was after Bill and Diane had moved to Cheltenham
where Bill was stationed. While George and I were staying with them, a trip was
planned whereby Diane would drive to N Yorkshire and we would explore. We
were very unprepared but hoped to at least see Brompton and the church where
the Vasey’s were married. We received rooms at a B&B (bed and breakfast Inn) in
York and it was not too far from the village of Brompton. There are two
Bromptons in N Yorkshire. The one we are interested in is on the road from York
to Scarborough, Brompton-by-Sawdon. It is customary to sometimes use a
descriptive adjective with a village name in England, i.e Stow-on-the-wold (Hill) or
Bourton-on-the-water (has a small stream running through the village). This is
true of many towns and villages throughout the country, especially if there are
more than one. Brompton-by-Sawdon tells you the location of this Brompton.
We knew there was a vicarage in Brompton, that the vicars name was Rev T.G
Horwood and where the vicarage was located. We found All Saints church
without any problem and it was unlocked so we entered and took pictures read
the pamphlets and browsed around, both inside and outside, marveling at the
building’s age and beauty and the way it was constructed. It is believed that there
was a church there as far back as 1086 or before and one’s mind has difficulty
assimilating that information in a time frame of our short individual existence on
Earth.
We found the Rev Horwood working in his flower garden and explained our desire
to see the recording of my grandparent’s marriage. He did not invite us into the
vicarage but chose to instead, to go inside and bring the book out to us. I think he
was a little peevish at being interrupted while he was performing his gardening
chores. At any rate, he turned the pages to the date we had given him. Then, as I
stodd there in that sunlit English garden and read the familiar names that I had
hoped to find, a shiver of excitement ran through me. At that moment I became
fully aware that I was truly walking in their footsteps. It was an emotional
experience. We thanked the Rev Horwood for his time and trouble and returned
to our car.
From the time of my first arrival in Brompton, and the sight of the surrounding
countryside, I had a strange feeling of déjà vu, as if I had been there before. Until
bio-tech science discovers that we can inherit a memory gene like we inherit the
genes that determine the color of our eyes, etc., I will content myself by feeling
not so much as if I had walked the path before, but as if I had finally come to a
place I was supposed to see.
After my return to California, I was determined learn more about possible sources
of information should I be able to return to N Yorkshire. When we were given
another opportunity to go to England, I was better prepared. Again, my daughter
Diane took us back to Ebberston and Brompton. She and Bill became expert at
driving on the “wrong” side of the road and it was so advantageous to be
travelling by personal vehicle. They had discovered that staying at farm B&B’s
was more enjoyable as they provided more blankets and the breakfasts were
enormous usually. Besides, if you were lucky the hosts might take you around the
farm or out to the sheep pens to entertain you. Breakfast might consist of
Bangers, Bacon, Eggs, Baked Beans, broiled half tomatos, juice, toast and coffee.
Diane encouraged us to eat as much of these big breakfasts as possible because
we could then eat a small ploughman’s lunch of bread, cheese and ham, and have
a nice meal in the evening.
The English custom of stopping for tea and a “sweet” in the aqfternoon is
delightful. No matter where you go, a mall, cathedral or store, there is always a
section where the cups are just waiting for customers. Of course tea shops are
really nice. My favorite teashop was in the village of Burton-on-the-water. We
went there once in a while and had scones (pronounced Skahnz) made with
currents, cucumber sandwiches, sweet cakes, jams and jellies and clotted cream.
Clotted cream is very rich (55% fat); it is unpasteurized milk until cream forms on
the surface, which is then skimmed off the top.

We learned that there was no longer a vicarage in Brompton and that the
church’s records had been taken to the No,. Yorkshire County Record Office in
Northallerton. Thirsk was to be our base of operations this trip as it would give us
access to both villages and the Archivist’s Office. We went first to Ebberston to
investigate Ebberston Hall, a manor house where there had been formal gardens
at one time. The mode of transportation in the mid-century would have to have
been by walking, pony cart, horse and buggy or horseback, and if Thomas Vasey
went to his work every day, it had to be within a short distance away, unless he
lived on the premises. There was also Pickering Castle and other manor homes
nearby. Ebberston Hall at one time was a showplace; located across the main
road from the village of Ebberston, near St. Mary’s Church.

When we went into Ebberston Hall, we encountered two ladies who were busy in
the library cataloging the books. They were friendly and inquired about our
interest in the area. When we explained we were there researching the Vasey
family, one of the ladies told us her name was Susan Vasey Pickering and that she
had a sister, Daphne Vasey, who worked for an attorney in Scarborough and who
had some knowledge of a Vasey book. She offered to call her to arrange an
appointment and we excitedly accepted the offer. It was agreed that we would go
to her house that evening. We thought that we had struck “pay dirt”, and after
looking at the rest of the house, we decided to move on to St. Mary’s Church.
As we walked through the churchyard, we passed a workman digging a grave with
a shovel. Inside the church we were taking pictures, reading the pamphlets and
looking around. A delivery man came in carrying a floral piece while we were
there, and we became aware for the first time that there was a wooden coffin in
front of the altar. He said there was to be a funeral there that day; this explained
the gravedigger. We left the church soon thereafter and went to the churchyard
at Brompton. This was the day we found a headstone for a Thomas Vasey, born
July 1, 1761, and died Nov. 9, 1838, in Ebberston. Could this be my great, great
grandfather? The dates could be right but the lack of a middle initial or name
makes it very difficult to be certain. We traced the letters of the epitaph with our
fingers and read this sassy, blithe philosophy: “Farewell vain world, I’ve had
enough of thee and all./ Regardless what thou sayest of me, I care not, nor thy
frown I fear.? Gone are my days and spirit. I rest here.” I wondered if he was as
spunky as the works. Susan Pickering had also given us the name and address of a
Sally Gaulty in Ebberston as a possible relative. There had been some rain falling
early and the grass was wet, so our boots were soaked as we went about the
churchyard. We found a headstone for a member of the Leaf family. My mother
had said that Grandpa had some cousins whose last name was Leaf and the girls
in the family had been named for flowers, i.e., Lily, Rose and Violet. Diane bent
down to brush away some depress from the Leaf headstone so we could see it
better, and she drew back with a cry of pain. It soon became evident that she had
had her first experience on the end of her finger with a stinging nettle, so she was
very careful after that. We used to avoid getting near nettles along the creek
when I was growing up Kansas
We decided to pay Sally Gaulty a visit, found the house and were greeted by a
gracious, elderly lady who led us through a miniature barnyard with sheep,
chickens and a small horse and into her very neat kitchen. There was an
enormous fireplace large enough in which to stand up and which was most likely
used for cooking purposes long ago; however, the kitchen was now furnished with
a modern stove and other appliances. The stone which served as the threshold
was worn down from the thousands of feet which had passed over it through the
years, and we guessed the house to be several centuries old. There was a china
cabinet against one wall; the shelves were holding beautiful dishes, some of
which I recognized to be Wedgewood, Royal Doulton, Spde and others. There was
a picture handing on the wall of an elderly man who resembled Thomas Vasey,
Grandpa Vasey’s father, whose picture we were carrying.
It was here that we first heard the name of Gary French, a barrister and soliciter,
from Elmvale, Ontario, Canada, who had been researching another branch of the
Vasey family. He had interviewed Mrs. Gaulty and she produced letters and
pictures for us to see. It was evident that he was writing about people who were
not familiar to us and names we had never heard of, so we were very sure that
those people he mentioned had to be distantly related to our branch of the
family. We thanked her for her help and went to find another lady she suggested
we talk with, a Mrs. Whhite. At Mrs. White’s house, I carried on a conversation
with her over a Vasey family but didn’t seem inclined to continue the
conversation further, however, she did make a curious comment to me. She said,
“You look like a Vasey.”’ This came as a big surprise to me and I couldn’t think of a
response at the time.
We had some time to spend before we were to see Daphne and Diane suggested
that we drive out on the North Moors. George was apprehensive about this
suggestion, fearing that we might get lost or have car trouble and never be found,
but he was voted down so we followed a road leading north from Brompton. The
hills were steep, it was foggy, lonely, bleak and dismal. At one point, in a valley
far below us, we glimpsed a locomotive pulling a few cars, heading south and
trailing a plume of smoke. We drove for perhaps 45 minutes until we came to a
cross-road with a sign indicating Pickering was to the left. During all our time on
the road, we did not see another vehicle. I wondered if grandpa had ever walked
into the moors. The road left took us through a wooded area and back to
Pickering where we located a place to eat. Thumbing through a telephone
directory, I saw many Vasey names and some of the store fronts also had Vasey
names as proprietors.
By now, it was 7:00pm and the time for our appointment. We arrived at
Daphne’s cottage on the corner of Kings Lane and High St in Ebberston. The
house was made of creamy stone and she told us it was 300 years old. It was
where she had been born. We were cold and our boots were still damp, so the
fire burning in the small fireplace was most welcome as she led us into a small
sitting room. She had assembles papers and a family bible for us to look at, but
we could find no names with which we were familiar. We had been told by others
that there were two distinct branches of the Vasey family. Since grandpa and his
siblings were all in America, it is reasonable to assume that there are no close
relatives in the area; however, we are distantly related to many Vasey’s over
there because of grandpa’s cousins.
Daphne too, had been interviewed by Gary French from Canada who was
researching the family of Richard and Susan Wood Vasey whose descendants had
immigrated to Canada. He and Daphne were pretty much assured that they were
related. We spent some time just talking and she served us some refreshments.
She said there was a book titled “Vasey” written by a Barbara Vasey Conzelman
from Canada, but she did not have a copy, nor did she know where we could
obtain one. I did not pursue this lead as I had no address and it appeared she was
from another branch of the family. Daphne did provide me with a copy of his
research of the origin of the Vasey name, which evolved from France at the time
of William the Conqueror. I have made it part of this story. We thanked Daphne
for her hospitality, took our leave and returned to Thirsk, saying we would keep in
touch.
The next morning we left the B&B early and drove to the North Yorkshire County
Records Office, County Archivists Office, in Northallerton. There was a fee to use
the search room and for the three of us, the total was $7.50 per hour (American
money) and we were there for three and a half hours. We were each given
record books to examine, and, armed with pen and paper, we spent a busy
session copying relevant information. Later, I requested copies of the documents
I wanted and we returned again to Thirsk with a feeling of satisfaction ay having
accomplished our mission.
Thirsk is a bustling market town where the veterinarian, James Herriot, who was
the author of “All Creatures Great and Small” and other books, had an office. Our
hostess at the B&B told us that if he wasn’t in London, we might find him at his
office and he would autograph his book which I was reading at the time. She said
it was only a “short distance” away, so Diane and I followed a footpath across
pastures where sheep and cattle were grazing, through gates and along more
footpaths towards the town. We walked and walked what seemed like miles and
could not find it. Discouraged, we returned to the B&B, only to find out later that
if we had kept going a little longer, we would have been successful. He died in his
home at Thirsk in 1995. His real name was James Alfred Wight, he was a
veterinarian and travelled as far as the city of Scarborough to go about his
business of treating animals. If you can locate a copy of “James Herriot’s
Yorkshire”, it has photographs and descriptions of the countryside around
Brompton and Ebberston, as well as the rest of North Yorkshire; Library of
Congress Catalogue Number 79-5339.
I’d like to mention the stone walls which surround the fields and pastures. Many
of them have been there for centuries, surviving without benefit of mortar of any
kind, and one wonders at the engineering that went into their construction.
Unfortunately, agricultural mechanization is proving to be their worst enemy as
some have had the entrances widened to accommodate modern equipment. The
walls crisscross the whole of England and are the subject of many tourists picture
taking.
There are several spelling variations of the Vasey name, as you can see by the
research of Gary French. Eustace de Vesci, a prominent northern baron, was one
of the collaborators with King John in 1215 in the drafting of the Magna Carta. He
later fell out of favor with the King and had to flee the continent. One of four
originals of the Magna Carta still exists at Salisbury Cathedral, which is where we
saw it. We can add his name to that of William Tyndale as an ancestor who is an
important part of English history.
There are also several variations of the spelling of Tindale. William Tyndale was
born on the welsh border, probably in Gloucestershire, sometime between 1490
and 1495. He was ordained to the priesthood in 1521 but the persecution of the
clergy caused him to want to change what he regarded as the corruption of the
church. His endeavors to translate the New Testament into English brought him
into suspicion from Henry VIII and Cardinal Wolsey. He was forced to flee to
Hamburg, visited with Luther and worked on his translation and the principals of
the English Reformation. In 1535 he was betrayed by a man he thought was a
friend, imprisoned at Vilvorde Castle, tried for heresy and condemned to die. On
October 6th, 1536 he was strangled at the stake and his body afterwards was
burned. (source: Encyclopedia Brittanica)
I prefer to use the spelling of Tindale the way Margaret signed her marriage
certificate. We found it spelled Tyndall, Tindall and Tyndale. William de Tyndale
was a resident of Tyndale on the east coast of England in 1292.
In Longleat Castle near Salisbury, between two beautiful curving staircases there
were some portraits. One of them was a full length life-sized portrait of a lady
wearing an exquisite blue gown. The nameplate on the Painting was Frances
Vessey but the docent who was guiding us knew nothing about the history of the
picture. Mom told us there was a Lord or Lady among our ancestors but didn’t
know their name or anything else about them.
One of the biggest frustrations for me in developing this project was the blank
wall I came up against in trying to find the name and location of the castle where
grandma lived as a young girl. No one that I have talked to has a clue to help me.
There are many books in England giving the locations of all the castles in the land,
whether ruins or still standing, but I’ve never heard of a name.
One of the things I noticed were the flowers we found in every village and town.
Cheltenham has a plaza with beds of blooming flowers and many basketshanging
from poles along the street. The rains come regularly and provide the necessary
moisture they need. If you go to England, try to go to the formal gardens at
Hampton Court Palace. They have been patterned after the gardens of the
Moorish palace in Spain called the Alhambra and feature fountains, sculptured
trees, clipped hedges, curving paths and many blossoms. I envy Thomas Vasey to
have been privileged to work as a gardener in such a setting.
We were still in Cheltenham in late November one time and wanted to go to
London to see the Christmas decorations in the stores. Most of the time we went
into the city, they parked the car on the outskirts and we took the train the rest of
the way. We went to Regent Street where the big department stores were
located and walked along admiring the elaborate lights which trimmed the
buildings and the display windows. We went into the famous Herrods department
store and all I bought were some Christmas cards so I would have a souvenir bag
to carry with Herrods’ logo on it. We were walking along the street and saw a
vendor who was roasting chestnuts on a grill over a big fire in a steel drum. Bill
and George didn’t want to buy any but Diane and I did buy some and continued
on down the street eating these delicacy ies and enjoying them as we walked.
When we had gone to No. Yorkshire in 1990, we noticed that we noticed that as
we drove through a village or town we saw Christmas trees with colored lights,
mounted high on the walls with brackets, on every store. At that time of the year,
the sun would be down and it would be quite dark as early as 4:00 P.M. We
wondered if the people surrounded themselves with the pretty colored lights to
make It seem more cheerful when the days were short.
George Tindale’s occupation has been given as a joiner. He was Grandma
Margaret’s father. Every village had a joiner whose job was to put together the
wooden wheels so the blacksmith could put the hoop around it. They usually
worked together and were an important part of agriculture. A joiner was also a
cabinet maker and carpenter.
If you remember the nursery rhymes you learned as a child, you might be
interested in the following rivia. Most of these ditties originated with a meaning.
For instance, the road between Cheltenham and Gloucester has marshes or
swamps on either side of the road. There, “Dr. Foster went to Gloucester (rhymes
with Foster)/In a shower of rain./We stepped in a puddle/Up to his middle/And
never went there again.” Or, “Ride a cock horse to Banbury Cross/To see a fine
lady on a white horse/With rings on her fingers/And bells on her toes/She shall
have music wherever she goes.” Makes reference to Banbury. “Ring around ‘s
rosie,” etc., refers to the Black Plague when people carried flowers in their
pockets so the fragrance would ward off the stench of corpses and burning
bodies. Recently the residents of Kilmersdon, England, have been campaigning to
restore the site where folklore says Jack and Jill fell down the hill. There are many
more but space prevents my listing them. Hope this hasn’t spoiled nursery rhymes
for you.
Back again in the United States, the Vasey home in Alma is still a private
residence. I like to drive past from time to time, just to refresh my memories. A
few years ago, Aunt Inez took us out to the Vasey farm. The landscape has
changed and the house was being used for grain storage, but I had only to close
my eyes and visualize the inside as I remembered it, and smell the faint odor of
kerosene from the lamps used for illumination. All of my memories were not
pleasant though. One summer evening, many years ago, I stood with Uncle Albert,
Aunt Fannie and her family near the corn crib and watched members of the Ku
Klux Klan burn a cross on the Shellenberger pasture hill adjoining the farm. In the
dim light at some distance we could see figures in white robes milling around the
burning cross. I was too young to understand the significance of this act, but I
knew it represented evil and I was frightened.
Putting this project together has taken many years, and was interrupted many
times while I was raising a family, working outside the home, tending to personal
health problems or just plain procrastinating. It was intended to give to my
children and grandchildren some of idea of their ancestry, and an appreciation for
the values handed down to them through the generations. Some day someone
with the interest, the energy, and time and resources may delve further into the
past. One thing is for certain, it has been fun!
I owe so much gratitude to so many people – to my daughter, Diane McGee, and
her husband, Bill; to my daughter, Eileen Byfield, and her husband, Paul; to my
husband, George, who supported me in my endeavors all the way; to my cousins,
Beth Gibbons Ayers, Don Coe and Howard Paine; and also brother Leland,
posthumously to my Mom, Elsie Paine and Aunt Fannie. And to all those kind and
helpful people in England.

Prepared by: Edith Wangerin LaGasse

329 Aileen Ave.
Santa Rose, CA 95407
(707) 525-1238
Final typing: 5-5-00