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My Dear Niece Margaret (Paterson), August 13, 1935 I am sending you a copy of our family record of births and deaths, and I decided to describe for you some of our ancestors listed therein, which I hope will be interesting to you and Chris, and perhaps to your husbands and daughters as well, who may preserve it for future generations of your posterity. I will begin with John Hall, my mother’s grandfather, who was your children’s great, great, great grandfather, he being the first of our ancestors that I have knowledge of. The record goes back only to my grandfather on father’s side of the house. John Hall was born in the year 1769, I presume in Aberdeenshire, Scotland, perhaps in the parish of Udny, about sixteen miles from Aberdeen, that beautiful, substantial city, built of granite, which is known as the “Granite City” or the “Silver City by the Sea”, the place where you and I were born. My mother was born in the village of Pitmedden, parish of Udny, as also were her first four children, your father included. I was the first of the four younger ones to be born in Aberdeen. Mother informed me that John Hall had several sons, but I do not remember that she ever spoke of any daughters. Her father was named John, in favor of his father. He died at the age of forty-eight, and only one of his brothers, named Robert, lived to attain old age. The others all died in their young manhood. Some of these brothers, she said, were musically inclined, and they were very much in demand to play the fiddle at barn dances about the countryside. I got the impression from Mother that they did not take very good care of their health, as she would sometimes cite them as an example of what might happen to me if I formed a habit of staying out late at night. I am sorry to say, like many more young fellows, I did not always follow her good advice. John Hall, her father, had a religious turn of mind, and according to Mother, he was a good, kindly-disposed man. His death, occurring when it did, her being thirteen years of age, it was a great loss and caused deep grief to the family. Mother was clever above the average, and the schoolmaster of the little school which she attended took special interest in her progress. She told me that her father had intended to send her to a young ladies’ academy in the city of Aberdeen after she got through with school. Death coming to him when it did made that impossible, so she had to go out to work at domestic service in order to help maintain a livelihood for the family which consisted of her mother, a sister and one brother, who were both younger than she. Her father had been a merchant in Pitmedden and able to provide a good living for his family, but he had no accumulation of savings to leave to them when he died. Mother’s sister Jane, whom you may remember of as Aunty Jean, was never a strong, robust woman and was an invalid much of the time all her life. She was married to William (Willie) Hacket who was a baker with a shop on Skeen Street at the time they were married. She was about thirty-five years old the, and he was about ten years her junior. I remember when they were married very well although none of us children were present at the wedding. They went to Elgin in Morayshire not long after they were married, and Willie Hacket opened a baker’s shop there. I spent the summer of 1879 with them in Elgin when I was ten years old, and a happy sumner that was for me. My grandma lived with them then and I was very fond of her. Aunty Jean died about fifteen years ago at MacDuff, Aberdeenshire, where she and Willie Hacket had lived for quite a number of years. He was engaged then in the manufacture of aerated waters, and made a moderate fortune before he retired from business. Before going to MacDuff he spent a few years in the same kind of business in Huntly, Aberdeenshire. Then for a time after that he had a farm near Turriff and stayed there a while before going to MacDuff. They were on the farm when I was home in 1896-97, and I visited them at that time. I went there the last weekend that I was at home, staying over Saturday and Sunday nights with a cousin of ours who was married to a fellow by name Jimmy Wright. This was Mary Paterson who will be mentioned in the story of my father’s people. Jimmy drove me out to Willie Hacket’s farm on Sunday where we stayed all day. Then on Monday morning your father came to Turriff and spent the day with us, and that was the last jolly time I ever had with him, as the next day I was leaving for America again, much against his will. I bade him goodbye forever on this earth although I did not know that at the time. Willie Hacket and Aunty Jean both lived to be about eighty years of age. She died about fifteen years ago, and he died about ten years later. You may also remember my mother’s brother, James, our Uncle Jamie. He had a tailor shop on Union Street, Aberdeen, for many years, but after I came back to America the last time he moved from there to Bridge Street. I saw him for the last time there when I was home. Uncle Jamie was a very distinguished looking man, with a long flowing dark beard. He habitually wore a Prince Albert frock coat and a tall silk hat. He used to call on us sometimes in the evening, especially in the wintertime, and Mother would make sowens. That was 1 something my uncle was very fond of. We used to get a laugh when he would get them on his moustache. I presume you are familiar with that dish, but I doubt if you ever heard of it outside of Scotland. You may have eaten sowens sometimes when you were a child. For the benefit of those who may not know about this oldfashioned article of food I will try to give a description of it, and I believe I will call it “A Treatise on Sowens”. Starting with Webster’s Dictionary we find it defined thus: “Sowens, (noun, plural), (from Gaelic, augh juice). Porridge of oatmeal siftings and husks. Scottish & Dialectic English.” Ask Fred if he ever got that dish at home. Webster’s definition does not satisfy a true Scot like myself, so I will proceed to give my definition, as I know the dish. The very idea of eating a porridge made of the husks and siftings of oatmeal is repulsive, and surely would be an insult to the palate of a civilized human being, to say nothing of a Scotsman. One might as well try to masticate and digest a pudding made of sawdust, with a sprinkling of oatmeal stirred in. Our ancient and very remote ancestors may have indulged themselves in the dish which Webster describes in his dictionary away back yonder before they emerged from barbarianism, let us say before the Roman invasion, but we know it not in our day, thank goodness. Now that I have had my crack-down on Webster, I will now give my description. First get a quantity of husks and siftings of oatmeal from a meal mill, and soak them in a tub of pure cold water for two or three days, then strain the liquid through a sieve, and throw away the husks and siftings. The product will be a light yellow fluid somewhat thicker than milk. It is then ready to cook, which is a very simple process. For drinking purposes, heat almost to the boiling point, which thickens the liquid to some extent, and sweeten to taste with sugar or syrup. The result will be a drink fit for a king or a Scot, which when quaffed on a cold winter night before bedtime will bring sweet slumber and pleasant dreams. If a porridge or pudding is desired, boil the liquid for a few minutes, and you will have what we kids used to disrespectfully call a leather pudding. I would advise, if eaten that way to serve it at the noon meal, as it might not be so conducive to sound sleep, being not so digestible in that form. Now that I have vindicated on of my boyhood’s favorite dishes, I will proceed with my story. Although Uncle Jamie, as I have said, came to see us occasionally, and was always on the best of terms with us, I cannot remember that his wife, Aunty Janet, ever came, although she once had your father and me to her house one Christmas when I was five years old. She had a tree decorated and hung with presents. We both got something from it, but what it was I do not remember. To make a long story short, She was a snob and far from being a real lady, so you may know that none of us had any use for her. One or two of our cousins would sometimes come with Uncle Jamie, but there was little intimacy between us. They grew up under their mother’s influence and regarded us as their poor relations – I feel sorry for them. The whole family went to Cardiff, Wales, some time after I left home the second time, where Uncle Jamie established himself in a tailoring business. He died two or three years before your father died of the same disease. Your father bore a striking resemblance to him, and your Aunt Fanny said she could see a strong resemblance between Kent and his Uncle Willie when Kent was ill last year. According to that the four of us bear some resemblance to each other. Kent looks very much like his mother about the mouth, especially when he laughs. My mother’s mother, Grandma Hall’s maiden name was Helen Harper. She was a kindly, lovable old lady, and we all adored her. I never knew anything about her forbears, but I did know of one brother who was a widower with a family of children. He came from the country to Aberdeen with them some time after his wife died, but we did not know them very intimately. The children were cousins of my mother. Robert Hall, who was my mother’s uncle, lived with his daughter, Mrs. Christina Brown at Belhelvie. He was the only brother of my grandfather, as I have already stated, who lived to be an old man. We visited him once when we were all quite young. That must have been about fifty-seven years ago. Your father, of course, was with us. Belhelvie is situated near the coast, about twelve miles from Aberdeen, I should judge. Father took us all there in a carriage one Sunday, the carriage being the property of the Misses Reid, proprietresses of Forsythe Temperance Hotel on Union Street, which was the building next to the bridge that spanned Correction Wynd if you can recall the location. Father worked there at that time and used to drive the ladies Reid out for an airing when they felt so inclined. The equipage was what was called a brake, and was drawn by one horse. In these days of motor transportation I will perhaps need to describe this vehicle of bygone days. It was a four-wheeled carriage with two upholstered seats running lenghthwise, so that the occupants faced each other with their sides toward the driver’s seat which faced the horse and was elevated above the rear seats. That Sunday was a gala day for us children who had never ridden in a carriage before, and you can imagine how we were the envy of all the other children in our neighborhood, when we all got on board that 2 imposing chariot. Our delight was unbounded and unrestrained you may be sure. I doubt if the youth of the present day could experience the exquisite thrill that was ours if they were to start on a trip to the moon by airplane. When we arrived at our destination we found our great uncle Robbie to be quite an old man, perhaps seventy or seventy-five years of age. He had as rosy cheeks, though, as you ever have seen on an old person, and his daughter, Kirsty, had rosy cheeks, too, as also did my mother. Mother and her cousin Kirsty looked very much alike I thought. That was the first and last time I ever saw Uncle Robbie, but I saw his daughter many times after that when she would be at the Green in Aberdeen selling her farm and poultry produce every Friday. My mother had a half brother and sister, John and Christina Hall. They were children of her father’s first wife, Christina Bean, and I think they were reared by her people. Inever knew anything about Christina, but I remember my half uncle, John. He died when I was about four years old. I have a faint recollection of being held up to look at him in his coffin. He left a wife and some children who grew up in Aberdeen, and I knew them, but not intimately. Mother kept in touch with them some while she lived. There is another branch of the Hall family in Aberdeen, but I cannot trace it back to the parent stem. I have an idea, though, that the first of that line may have been a cousin of John Hall, who was the first of our line that we know about. The Halls that I have reference to are the Ship Builders of Aberdeen. You may remember of James Hall & Sons, also Hall-Russel Co. whose ship building yards were at Footdee or “Fittie” as it was locally known. They have been building steam ships mostly since they were invented, but prior to that time they were builders of wooden sailing ships and they built up a great trade building fast sailing clipper ships. They not only contributed to the supply of British shipping but also executed orders from American ship owners. Old James Hall who was at the head of the firm James Hall & Sons attended Trinity Parish Church where our family belonged. We came to know of the relationship through our Uncle Jamie, who told my mother about James Hall the ship builder calling in to his tailor shop to see him one day. The old man was curious to know who his namesake was, and in the conversation that followed they were able to establish the family connection which proved their kinship, wholly to their mutual satisfaction. That particular offshoot of the family, you see, emerged from the same humble origins did ours, but they became wealthy and prominent members of society, while our branch lagged behind in comparative obscurity, but who knows, a genius in some line of human endeavor may yet be produced in some future generation of ours which will place all their ancestry in the shade. The Halls apparently had a bent toward mechanics and commerce, while the Patersons had mostly followed agricultural pursuits, drifting away from the soil, however, in my generation. Only two of my father’s brothers remained on the soil. The others were day laborers like my father, only one of them rising above that. In my own immediate family your father excelled in the mechanical line, but from what I know of him, he might have done as well in several different lines. For example, if he had specialized in music, he could have attained some degree of success. He also had a good voice for singing, and he was in great demand when he was still in his teens, to sing at benefit concerts in Aberdeen. He was several years in the choir of Trinity Parish Church. The precentor of the choir used to be against him singing comic songs, saying it would spoil his voice, but he loved to sing character songs, preferably Scottish comic songs. If he had chosen to go on the stage I have no doubt but he would have made good. I had the same propensity for entertaining that he had, and always enjoyed doing it. I do not mind singing for a company even yet when called on. The greatest difference between your father and myself lay in the fact that he was a born mechanic and I was not. My forte was business and dealing with the public, but I had no one to point out the way I should have gone in choosing a career. If we had received more education than it was possible for us to get in the limited time that we went to school, but instead of that we both had to go to work at anything that presented itself when we were too young. If I had been trained as a journalist it would have suited me, as I like to write, but your father and I were born into the wrong strata of society for getting the advantage of education which would have fitted us for any professional career. Perhaps before you get through reading this chronicle you may think journalism is well rid of me. Your father learned the machinist’s trade at Haddens Woolen Mill in Aberdeen, serving an apprenticeship of five years instead of seven as originally agreed upon. He became proficient enough in the shorter period, and the firm was generous enough to recognize that fact. During his term as and apprentice he went to drawing school at nights, at the same time learning something of higher mathematics than he ever got at 3 school as a small boy. His whole heart and soul were in his work. At nights very often he would be at something pertaining to his trade just for recreation. I remember he and another mechanic made a high bicycle one summer in the long light evenings. His pet diversion was experimenting with some electrical device or another. He and a man old enough to be his father, who I think was a pattern maker in the mill used to spend many an evening in a basement of one of the houses on North College Street, near the Windmill Brae. I do not remember much about what they made except one thing and that was a galvanic battery. Some of my chums and I would be invited in occasionally to see what they were doing, and they would test the battery on us to see how much of a shock we could stand. I believe that was the principle reason for the favor extended to us. Roderick or Roddy Ross was the man’s name that your father spent so much time with. I think he had a great admiration of him and no doubt he learned much from him. When your father was nineteen years of age he went to Baxter’s Jute Factory in Dundee, Scotland, as a full fledged journeyman machinist. That was the summer of 1883. On December 31 of that same year he was married to your mother and took her back to Dundee with him. Your oldest brother was born there and perhaps Willie was, too, but I am not sure of it. I have forgotten, too, whether Tommy died there or in Aberdeen after they came back. While your father was in Dundee he got his arm broken one day in the mill. Someone had started the machinery up when he had his arm between the spokes of a wheel. That laid off work for a while. Some time after that his health got bad on account of the dust off the jute getting into his lungs, so he was advised by the doctor to leave there. I think he had been gone gone from Aberdeen about two years altogether. When he came back from Dundee he had to go idle for a time, and the next job he got was in Piries Envelope Factory. He stayed there a while, but on account of some labor union trouble he, and I think some others, were discharged. I think it was the next day that he was sent for to come to the office of the Comb Works where he was offered a position as chief engineer. That was his first step up and he was working there when I left for America. Your family was living on Ann Street. not far from the Comb Works at that time. If my memory serves me right you were the baby, and you were perhaps a few months old. That was in 1891, and your father was still experimenting with electricity. Some time before I left he installed and electric bell in your house that could be rung by pressing a button at the street door. There may have been some other electric bells in Aberdeen at that time, but I did not know of them. He was one of the pioneers of the electrical industry in the city, and one of the first employed in the industry there. It was not long after I left home that your father got a position with the Great North of Scotland Railway Co. as chief electrical engineer at the Palace Hotel which was bought by the Railway Company about that time. He also had charge of the electrical system at the Joint Station, the power being generated in the basement of the hotel where the dynamos were. He also installed the lighting system on the company’s trains and had charge of the same. When the Great North built the large Cruden Bay Hotel for a resort, he was put in charge of the electrification of it. Some time after that he was transferred to the railway shops at Inverurie and was made superintendant of the elecgtrical department there. I was proud of your father’s success. For nearly thirty years I kept the old handbill which announced that a lecture would be delivered by William Paterson on a certain day in February, 1906, at Inverurie as a sort of symbol of his success which was achieved despite the handicaps incident in the life of a poor boy. I sent that handbill to you, feeling sure that you would properly appraise its value as a memento of him. It might seem foolishly sentimental to some, but to me it would seem perfectly fitting to be in a frame and under glass in honor of him who left school to go to work at the age of eleven, and by earnest and dogged perseverance had become so familiar with the science of electricity that he was capable of expressing his knowledge of it before an audience. Knowing him as I did from my early childhood, I know what he had to overcome. You will likely be aware of the fact that your father was blind in one eye. He was just able to discern the shadow of any object with it that might happen to come between him and the light when he closed his good eye. When I was a wee bit of a boy I used to have to lead him to the doctor to get his eyes treated for inflammation as we called it. I do not know what was the cause of the trouble, nor what technical name the disease would have now. I do know and remember quite vividly the feeling of terror that haunted me at the time, that he might be totally blind, as I understood there was a danger of that being the final result. Away back as far as I can remember, even before I started to go to school, your father used to come home from school every Monday with a sick headache so that he would have to lie down for he rest of the day. He would have vomiting spells with that, but I think he outgrew those spells before he finished school. I think his stomach was never very strong throughout his whole life, although he seemed to get stronger after he went to work. The first work your father ever did was carrying milk in the mornings before school, when he was about 4 ten years old. When he left school at eleven he got a job with a bookseller on Union Street. I think it was Hay & Lyall’s at the corner of Market Street. I remember he used to deliver the London Graphic, London Illustrated News, and London Punch as well as other current periodicals and papers of that day. They also sold books of all sorts and bric-a-brac of various kinds which the fashionables of the city would buy and have delivered to them at their West End residences. Your father had a hurley, or to put it in English, a hand cart with two wheels to carry his books and papers in. On Saturdays he would come by our house on his way to the West Send to get his breakfast. That was a weekly event to which we younger kids looked forward, as he used to bring some of the periodicals such as the Graphic, etc. and let us look at the pictures while he was eating. From that job he got one with Black & Ferguson, Wine Merchants in Adelphi Court delivering liquor of all kinds to the gentry of the city. He stayed at that until he was fourteen years old. I remember once we got a scare when he came home one night covered over with mud off the street. He had been knocked down with a cab and I believe the contents of his hurley were scattered on the street. He was not much hurt, however, and we were all glad that it was no worse. I was a delivery boy for several years myself before I went to learn my trade, and although I never was run over, I have had some narrow escapes. As I have said, your father was one of the first electrical engineers in Aberdeen, and if he had lived on to the present time, it is difficult to say just how far he would have advanced with the progress of the electrical industry. There is one thing sure: he would not have stood still. He was well known in his time by many of the higher officials connected with the industry in different parts of Scotland and England. As you will remember, he got a splendid position in India with the Bengal and Nagpur Railway which was run by the British Government. He told me after he went there that he had two hundred and fifty men, some of them natives of India, which necessitated his having an interpreter to translate his orders. He could not have been in India much over a year when his health broke down and he had to return home. I remember you were all on the eve of going to join him when a telegram came with the news that he was coming home. What a disappointment it must have been to him and all of you. I had a few letters from him after he arrived home. I have the last letter he wrote to me telling me that the end was approaching fast. It was written a month or two before he died, poor chap. It brings a lump in my throat when I think of it all. Nellie, my first wife was far from well at that time and I was terribly worried about her condition. Your father died in November and on Christmas Eve the doctor informed me that Nellie had tuberculosis of the bowels, and I knew from the first that it was a hopeless case. She died about nine months after your father passed away. Kent was just two years and seven months old when she went, and was separated from me several months before she died. Nellie was in a sanitorium in the eastern part of this state for a few months before she died, but she kept going down all the time. Finally I decided to take her home to her parents who were on a farm at Brooklyn, Pennsylvania. Kent was with an aunt a few miles from his grandparents. I engaged a state room in a Pullman car, so that she would be as comfortable as possible and she stood the journey wonderfully well. I carried her on and off trains as if she were a baby, when necessary to change as we had to do several times before we got to our destination. Her normal weight when she was in good health was around a hundred and ten or fifteen but at that time she only weighed sixty-five pounds. I will never forget that long journey, but we reached the end of it at last, and her father was at the little railway station to meet us with one of his wagons and a pair of horses. We put her in a cot bed which was on the wagon and drove about four miles to the farm house where her mother was waiting for us. It was a sad homecoming but oh, how glad they all were to see her back home, although it was only for a short time. The date of our arrival was about July the 15th. I stayed a few days but had to come back to Charlotte to my work, as it was taking plenty of money to cover all the expense we had to bear for the whole time of her illness. I had hoped to see her again before she died, but it was not to be. She died on the 26th of August, 1910. Her father wrote me to come as he feared the end was near, but when she was informed that he had written me to that effect, she got him to send me a telegram not to come, because she felt so much better. I got the telegram before I had time to start off to see her, so I did not go but it made no difference, as I got a wire about five o’clock in the afternoon the same day with a message that she had breathed her last, and I was on the train speeding north at eight o’clock that evening, arriving at Brooklyn on the forenoon of the second day after that. She was buried the next day, and so ended my brief period of happy married life with her. It was just about five and a half years prior to that time when we were married, and with the exception of the last year of that time we were very happy, and prospering wonderfully well. When the end came I was financially all-in and in debt, but I did not mind that, as I was strong and well and had a pretty good 5 job as a travelling salesman besides having a small interest in the granite and marble business of the Queen City Granite & Marble Works for whom I sold monuments. In about a year I had my debt all paid and my head above water again, but I shall never forget the doubt and despair which I felt at times during that weary time. I have taken up a good deal of space writing about my troubles, but it is all associated in my mind with your father’s illness and death happening about the same time. I got started on the story and found it hard to find a stopping place, but I feel sure you will be interested, so that is why I have told it. I can enter with sympathy into your feeling concerning your father in connection with radio. What a rare pleasure it would have been to him to listen to the programs broadcast from all parts of the earth. He would have also been interested in the technicalities of radio, as it would have been right in his line. I had the honor of singing two songs before the microphone one evening about ten years ago. I sang “I Love a Lassie” and “Roamin’ in the Cloamin”. A great many people who know me heard my effort and I got quite a few compliments. All of the fraternal societies of the city had each selected one of their members to sing, and I was chosen by the members of the Woodmen of the World to represent them. I will bring this section of our family history to a close now and take up the Patersons which I will start on another sheet. Your great grandfather, James Paterson, was born in the parish of Old Deer, Aberdeenshire, some time about the year 1800. Old Deer is situated about 35-40 miles north of Aberdeen, a few miles from the east coast and not many miles south of Peterhead. He married Frances Simpson in the early 1830’s, and my father, who was their 2nd son, was born in August 1835, just 100 years ago. He did not know the exact date of his birthday, but he used to tell us that it was between the dates of Aichie Fair and some other fair, the name of which I have forgotten. I am not sure if I have the name of that fair spelled right or not, but is pronounced Aikey. Perhaps it was because his Uncle Tom had no children that grandfather let him take my father to bring up. At any rate he was with him until he was old enough to go to work on some farm. I have heard father tell about how lonely it was with his Uncle and Aunty, away from the rest of his brothers and sisters. I felt sorry for him when he would speak of it as I could not imagine anything worse could happen to me than to be taken away from the rest of my family. Grandmother Paterson died when she was about 40 years of age, leaving eight children including my father, who might be considered to be in good luck not to be there when calamity came upon them, as his father married again and got a wife who was not good to the children. Father always referred to his stepmother as Auld Nance, Nancy being her proper name. Father took your father and me with him once on an Aberdeen holiday to visit Grandfather. I was probable nearly four years old and your father eight at that time, and I have very little recollection of the trip, but I never will forget how terror-stricken I was when crossing the Moss of Slampton, which was a near-cut between the railway station and grandfather’s farm. Father carried me all the way across, and I was fearful that he would fall with me into one of the peat bog holes which were full of dark brown colored stagnant water. Your father trudged along in the footpath with us I suppose in perfect ease and contentment with himself. I do not remember that he and I ever compared notes on that trip when we grew older, but I think he would always remember about me crying with fright all the way across the moss. When we arrived at the farm Auld Nance was milking a cow in the farmyard, and I remember father stopping to speak to her with me still in his arms. We then went into the house, and I remember Grandfather sitting in an arm hair by the big open fireplace. He was then about seventy years old or over. He died in 1875 or ’76, and I think he was about seventy-five then. I remember nothing more about our trip, so I long ago arrived at the conclusion that I must have slept all the way on the train going and coming. Uncle Jamie (James), Father’s eldest brother, went to New Zealand in the late 1850’s. He was proprietor of a hotel at one tie in Omaru, Otago, and I understand he had quite a bit of money. We very seldom heard from him, but I remember once when I was quite young about some photographs being sent to Uncle Willie of Craigdam, and he sent them around among the rest of the family to see. One of the photos was of quite an elaborate silver service that was a wedding present. He had been married about that time to his second wife. He was married first in Scotland, and his wife died in New Zealand. He had one son that was left behind 6 for Grandfather and Nance to bring up. His name was Ritchie (Richard), but I never knew him. In fact I only saw him once in my life, and that was a year or two before I left home. He was on Grandfather’s farm and may still be on it if he is living, but it is doubtful about his being alive yet a he would be about eighty years old. Although Auld Nance did not treat her stepchildren as she should have, she doted on Ritchie and she saw to it that he got all Grandfather’s possessions when he died. Uncle Jamie died in New Zealand in 1912, and at that time he must have been around eighty. Uncle Willie (William) was a crofter at Craigdam, Near Tarves on the Earl of Aberdeen and Tremair’s estate. He and his wife, Aunty Annie, lived there all of their married lives. They had four daughters and one son, named respectively: Annie, Mary, Elsie, Willie and Susan. Willie went to Alberta, Canada, about 35 years ago to follow farming, which he had done all his life in Scotland. I never heard of him since he went there, but he may still be living, as he was just about six months younger than myself. Auntie Annie died about twenty years ago, and after that Uncle Willie went to Aberdeen to live with one of the girls who was married and living there, and a few years after that he, too, passed on to his reward. I will tell you about a visit that your father and I paid to Craigdam so long ago that you may wonder how I can remember incidents of our journey, but events of that kind not crowd themselves on top or each other among people of moderate circumstances fifty-nine years ago as they do now. A motor trip today is a common event to children as well as to grown-ups, and I am sure falls far short of the exciting thrill that we experienced on that journey when I was just seven years old and your father was twelve. We left Aberdeen on Friday afternoon to be gone from home until the following Monday. Our train took us to Logierieve Station where we got off to go to Uncle Sandy’s farm. Uncle Sandy and Aunty Helen had two sons and a daughter. Alec, the youngest boy, was at the station to meet us. The name of the farm had the rather pretty name of Orhardton. The homestead was about a mile from the station, so that it was not long before were enjoying the hospitality of Aunty Helen who had a fine supper ready for us of newly laid eggs, oatmeal cakes, scones with good rich sweet butter, and preserves to our tea. I remember Uncle Sandy spreading butter on our cakes and scones about a quarter of an inch thick. We had to do with it much thinner in town where butter was dearer. After supper we played about the farm till bedtime which came all too soon for us. Besides Alec who met us at the station there were Jeanie and Jamie who in ages ranked between your father and me, so it will not be hard for you to imagine the fun the five of us had. Then when it came time for bed Aunty Helen gave each of us a bowl of newly milked milk, and that was the first time I that I had ever tasted milk fresh from the cow. I have heard people say they do not like it, but I did. When we finally were in bed up in the attic, the old folks being downstairs, we lay and talked in the dark till sleep overtook us, and it was morning before we knew it. After we ate a good breakfast your father and I started to walk to Craigdam which was at least a distance of seven miles. We got directions how to get there, but we were not at all sure that we would not get lost. We had good luck, however, and on the way we had to pass through the village of Pitmedden, where my mother and your father were born. Mother had told us to go in and see Betty Daniel, a relative of hers. She was an old lady who lived all alone, and she was so pleased to see us. Your father was a baby when she saw him last and she had never seen me, so she was delighted to see, as she said, somebody belonging to Isa Ha’, as they called my mother in the country. They left off the two l’s. She gave us something to eat and made us rest a while before starting off on our journey again, and while resting we were much amused at seeing two swallows’ nests, one in each of the upper corners of the window. They were built of mud and straws and lined with straw and feathers, and they were both occupied by little young swallows. The parents fluttered about the nests all the time we were there, doubtless in a great state of apprehension lest we two strangers from the city might do them some harm. After we had well rested we started out on the last half of our journey toward Craigdam. When we had traveled quite a distance toward our destination we came to a farm where we had been informed one of Uncle Willie’s daughters worked. We stopped at the house to enquire and sure enough it was the place we were looking for. This was Mary, the second daughter, and a bonnie fair-haired lass she was, at least that is what I thought. She was about the same age as your father, and in these times she would be considered to young to work. I think children in Scotland have to attend school until they reach the age of fourteen or fifteen. Mary was delighted to see us, and her mistress let her off work earlier that Saturday afternoon to walk home with us the rest of the way, which was not so very far. When we reached Craigdam we got a jolly, hearty welcome from all the rest of the family, and you may be sure that we had a fine time with them. Aunty Annie was noted for her kindness, and she could not do too 7 much for us. We had never to my knowledge ever seen our cousins before, but we were not long about getting acquainted, as children rarely are. The treatment we received was such as we had experienced at Uncle Sandy’s and the fun we had was much on the same order. Aunty Annie saw to it that our shoes were brushed and ready for us to go the Kirk of Tarves in the morning. We were all up bright and early, and Aunty had her hands full getting us all ready to start. She was the only one who stayed at home. There were eight of us altogether, and we filled a whole seat. That was the first time that I had ever been in a country church and was the farthest that I had ever walked to one, four miles going and coming, so you see we were getting some practice walking long distances on country roads. Then after dinner we all went for a good long walk in the afternoon and enjoyed that as we did everything that was done for our entertainment. On Monday morning we started back on our journey to Orchardton, making better time than we did going as we wanted to spend a little time with our cousins there before leaving on the evening train for Aberdeen and home. Your father and I both were loaded with good things that Aunty Annie and Aunty Helen sent to Mother. When we reached home we were two happy but tired little lads with lots to tell about our adventures on the trip. I may mention here that Mary died in Turrif some time last year. I do not know whether any of the other girls are still living or not, but we knew them all well once, as that was not the only time we went visiting there. I remember that your father once took your mother there on a holiday. Those were the happiest days of life, Margaret, when we were all young and free from care. Uncle Francie (Francis) was a quarrier, and had worked at that in the Peterhead quarries for several years. He came to Aberdeen to work in the Rubislaw quarries when I was a small boy, living for a long number of years at Mannofield with his family. There were a number of children, but I can only remember three of the oldest of them distinctly. Maggie, named after her mother, was oldest of the family, then Frank, and Johnny. Uncle Francie lived to be between seventy and eighty, and I have no knowledge of any of them now, except that your Aunty Jean said that Aunty Bella knows one of the sons who, according to her testimony, is a very nice man. Uncle Francie was a great reader and an exceptionally well informed man for one in his humble station. We all used to say he should have been a clergyman or a lawyer. I was amused once when one of my stonecutter buddies who was from Aberdeen and who was working with me at Vinalhaven, Maine, nearly forty years ago, asked me if I had a relative by the name of Francie Paterson. When I answered in the affirmative, he said he could have made a bet that I was either his son or his nephew, because I looked so much like him. He told me that thy used to call him, “the minister”. Aunty Elsie (Elspeth) was the oldest of the two sisters, and was an old maid, never marrying. She was a housekeeper at a farm somewhere in the parish of Old Deer, but none of us ever visited her, although she occasionally came to see us. We children used to be very much amused at her quaint country manners and speech. One of her legs was some shorter than the other, which was caused by a fever of some kind when she was a child, and she walked with a limp all her life. Uncle Johnny (John) was a quarrier at Rubislaw Quarries, and lived for many years at Ruthrieston, not far from the Bridge of Dee. He was a bachelor a long time, but finally got married during my schooldays. They had three or four children, but being so much younger than me, I never knew them as I did most of my other cousins. I think he must have been about forty years of age when he married. It must be fifteen years ago since he died, and I think he must have been a little over eighty at the time of his death. Aunty Babbie (Barbara) was married to John Dickie a stone mason, and they lived in the Village of Old Deer. They had one daughter and two sons, Bella, who was about my age, Frank and Johnny. Your father and I visited them once when we were still of school age. We had a good time there. Three things stand out in memory in connection with this visit and they are as follows. First, the ringing of the church bell, which duty was performed by uncle John Dickie every morning and evening. This custom was never neglected, and the inhabitants kept their clocks and watches at correct time by the sound of the bell. Your father and I were allowed by our uncle to help him to pull the rope, so that was quite a novelty for us. How simple a thing it was to amuse and entertain us in our innocent childhood. Second, we went to see a ploughing match, the first and only one that I ever witnessed. I enjoyed seeing all the farm servants and their masters gathered together to see that event, and listened to the farmers boast about the great ability of their several servants and about their own prowess in plowing a long straight furrow. The third and last adventure of mine was having to watch the escape of bees from a hive in Aunty Babby’s back yard. I sat for several hours waiting for the exodus, in fear and trembling lest I would be severely stung for my pains. I stood my ground however for several hours, until they 8 came buzzing forth from the hive and landed in a tree close by, at which I had to run to the house and tell my aunt of what had occurred. She then came out and diverted them into a new hive. These were three experiences that rarely would have come the way of a city boy and they furnished something to talk about when I got back home. Frank is the only one of that family living today, and he has a tailoring business in Aberdeen. Aunty Jean was telling me about him. Uncle Sandy (Alexander) was the youngest of my father’s brothers and sisters, and was the favorite uncle with us children. You will recall that we stayed over one night at Orchardton, where he was grieve at that time. That means in the English language that he was overseer. He was a first-rate farmer and in the latter years of his live he was well known among cattle breeders all over Scotland. His specialty was breeding Aberdeen-Angus cattle, which is the finest beef cattle in the world. I remember when I was a boy working as messenger boy for James Davidson, the butcher who had a shop in the New Market, that he used to help supply the London trade with beef from that breed of cattle. It commanded the highest prices of any beef in all markets where it could be bought. He went from Orchardton to the Mains of Portlethen, Kincardineshire, which was about eight miles south of Aberdeen and right on the rocky coast where was situated the quaint little fishing village of Portlethen. The farm was bounded on the east by the fishing village. I have walked out there several times from Aberdeen when I was a boy in my teens just to spend the weekend with Uncle Sandy, Aunty Helen and my cousins. Jeanie, my cousin, was married there when I was about twenty years old. Your Aunty Jean and I were both present at the wedding, and what a glorious time we had. The wedding ceremony was performed in the barn loft which was suitably decorated for the occasion, and after the ceremony came the wedding feast. All the farm servants were present besides a number of relatives and friends. The company was pretty evenly divided as between male and female which was assurance that there would be no dearth of partners when it came time to dance. When the feast was over and everything cleared away to make room for dancing the musicians got their fiddles out and the fun began. The dance was opened with the Grand March and Reel. I with you could have heard the hooching as they cut the figure eight. Everybody there, I think, could dance, and I believe we danced the entire list of dances in vogue at that time. There was the Highland Schottische, the German Schottische, the Edinburgh Quadrille, the Lancers Quadrille, the Circassian Circle, La Va. That is an abbreviation of La Varsivianna, the old fashioned Polka, which went one, two, three and a hop. Then there were the contra dances, or square dances as they are called in this country, such as Monymusk, Rory O’Moore, etc. and then the dance that I used to love so well, the Waltz. I do not think they usually waltz to the same step now as we used to, and they call the way that we did it the English Waltz here. I learned to dance in the old Princess Street hall in Aberdeen when I was seventeen years of age. Davy Morgan, one of the champion Highland dancers of that time, was my teacher. He taught me to dance the Highland Fling, Shean Trews, the Irish Jig, and after that I learned to dance several steps of a Clog Hornpipe and several of the Sailor’s Hornpipe. Although I could do all of those dances I would have been considered moderate in my indulgence in the pastime. I never was fanatical like many of my acquaintances about going to every dance of the season and I think I enjoyed the pleasure of a dance all the more for that reason. I was selected once to dance with a party of four men including myself for the entertainment of an audience who were gathered to celebrate Burns’ birthday anniversary at Vinalhaven, Maine, nearly forty years ago. We were dressed in full Highland costume and had a piper from Boston engaged to play for us. We danced the Scottish Reel which brought down the house as we used to say. That same night I was on the program to sing a duet with a Scots girl, and we sang Hunting Tower , which you may remember. It is sung verse about the girl beginning with “When ye gang awa’ Jamie? Far across the sea laddie. When ye gang tae Germany? What will ye bring tae me Laddie? I then sang two other songs by myself, but enough of this reminiscing. I must get back to my story which I think is coming to a close soon. It was not long after I came to America that Uncle Sandy went to Auchterarder, Perthshire, to be overseer on a Glasgow gentleman’s model farm. He stayed on that farm until he got too old for service and he was retired on a pension and settled in a nice comfortable cottage in the village of Auchterarder where he and Auntuy Helen ended their days. Uncle Sandy died a little over eigtht years ago, rounding out a life of more than eighty years. He was the youngest of the family and the last one to die. Aunty Helen followed him a few years later. Jeanie, their daughter, lives somewhere near Auchterarder with her husband. Alec is a gardener on a gentleman’s estate in Dunfermline. I wish you could have known Aunty Helen as we knew her when we were children.. She used to interest us very much by telling us tales of some haunted house or of some awful murder that had been committed in the long ago. One of her tales was 9 about the “Sax yetts o’ Widney”, the Six Gates of Udny, where one of the Lairds of Udny was murdered I believe. I have passed those gates, three on each side of the highway. The road for several hundred yards was thickly lined with trees which made it dark and gloomy, and a fit place for some dark deed you would think. We used to shudder with terror when passing by there after hearing Aunty Helen’s story. Now that I have briefly sketched a little of the lives of each one of your forebears, I hope you will find it interesting. I only wish I were better able to give you a better story, but such as it is, it will have to do. It has been a pleasure to me to recall them all and it brought many things back to my memory that is not recorded here. Many and great have been the changes in this world since my father and mother were born and even since I was a child. Our ancestors would scarcely recognise it if they were to come back, but no doubt they were as happy, if not happier, in their day than we are in ours. Life was not as complex then as it is now, and people were better satisfied with their lot in life than this generation seems to be. The people all over the world seem to be in a state of unrest, and war and rumors of war seem to abound everywhere in this year 1935 so that no man can fortell just what may happen to civilization if another terrible world upheaval like that of 1914-1917 or worse should occur. Let us hope and pray that such a catastrophe may be averted.
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