I have not posted in over a week. Writers cramp. I have opened the blogger, but stared at it blankly for several minutes then signed out. I am back with a vengence...........
My Great Grandfather (John Paternoster Squires) on my mothers side was born in 1820, migrated from England to the US in 1852. His mother taught him to read and write until he could attend school at the age of 10. He attended school for not quite 3 years before he had to leave to help support the family. He died at the age of 81 in Salt Lake City, Utah in 1901.
I want to quote here a portion of a letter he wrote to his parents just before he left England to come to the US. He had just received a letter from them and was very pleased to receive it. This part of the letter he is in a reminiscent mood.
I find this writing very cultivated from someone who only had education until the age of 13 years.
Aprl 1852 Putney, England
Let us take a walk to Ayet Green, I mean the place where old Samuel Paternoster dwelt, I did think of going to Woolmer Green, the birthplace of my mother, but the journey is almost too far. Perhaps we shall go there some other time. Well, I am now in front of my grandfather's cottage, just about to open the wicket gate at the entrance of the garden. Click goes the latch, I was about to bound down the garden walk, but on looking around I see close behind me with a child in her arms - my Mother. The childs name is Jimmy. So I hold the gate open, waiting for my Mother and little Jimmy to pass through. On looking towards my right, I behold the path bordered with parsley. On the left side of the door to the house I perceive the May flowers growing luxuriantly.
We enter the house and find Grandmum sitting beside a good fire kindling on the hearth, mending Grandad's stockings. On raising her eyes and earnestly beholding us she is saying, "Well, child, is it you? You must be very tired walking all the way, carrying that great child." The chairs are moved from their accustomed places and we are soon comfortably seated.
Grandmum is now very busy preparing tea, ever and anon asking after the rest of the family. Now come that delicious bread and butter, bread out from home made cakes and butter fresh from Master Foxley's dairy. Oh! How refreshing it is after walking seven miles.
We have had our tea, the old black teapot is placed beside the fire for Grandad and my eldest brother (Thomas), whose arrivals we are expecting any minute, and I am standing near the door impatiently awaiting the same.
