Wool Comes from Sheep

Wool by Beth, 2019

Last week, I thought about wool. It suddenly dawned on me that one of my Facebook friends who loves gravestones is a farmer! I asked her if she would take a couple of photos of wool. This Schofield/Scholfield project wouldn't be complete without it. Her name is Beth and she lives in Ohio. She tells me that she and her hubby have 370 ewes that they breed. That's a lot of wool.

They also have cattle and crops of corn and soybeans. Her great photos (shared to me via Facebook) will add a lot to my project. Thanks so much Beth.

There are always struggles when you are researching and when I looked at the History of Montville (CT) by Baker I found the names spelled quite nicely in this list:

History of Montville, page 500

My great grandmother spelled it in the most simple of ways. SCHOFIELD. I thought that was all I was going to need to know. Wasn't I wrong?

Spectacle Maker or Clothier?

Spectacle Maker or Clothier?

Internet Archive. org  Genealogical and Biographical Record of
New London County Connecticut
J.H.. Beers& Co. 1905

In this genealogical and biographical book, I have found many of my ancestors from Connecticut. It is not scanned perfectly, so I asked my friend Dorothy Hanna to look in the library and send my a clean photocopy. She mailed it to me so that I could work on this line. The above snip is from the Internet Archive, just so you can see that it states that Arthur was a "spectacle maker". If he did do that it was not claimed as an occupation because all three records I have found of his marriage to Sarah state that he is a clothier. 

It is always good to do a reasonably exhaustive search looking for records. By the way, he was 20 years at marriage and she was a spinster at 24. I have not found any evidence of the amount of money he left his children. Records like the Cheshire Marriage License and Bonds and the Boyd's marriage index at Find my Past do not give me anything but clothier as an occupation and still list no parents.

Bishop's Transcript of Arthur and Sarah Scholefield's Marriage

Earliest Church Records for Scholefield

Arthur Scholefield and his wife Sarah Wrigley were married in 1755 in St. Chads Church in Uppermill, Saddleworth, England.

Manchester, England, Church of England Marriages and Banns.

I cropped this record down from the original record found at Ancestry.com and used a graphics program to underline specific words to make sure I understand each part of this record. 

• "of this parish" means they both attended that specific church
• they married in the chapel (not in the big part of the church where worship services were held)
• married by license (not by banns) 
• this was recorded with the year written out completely. 
• he is a Clothier 
• she is listed as spinster (a never before married woman)
• their ages at marriage are not listed
• listed is the name of the man who married them and the witnesses in this narrative format.
• this is Arthur and Sarah's Bishop's Transcript (a copy of the record sent to the Bishop of the Church of England) You'll want to look at that link because you will need your spectacles) (What is a Bishop's Transcript?)

Notice that this record and the parish register doesn't list parent's names like the Scotland records. 

Disarming the Trunk from England

Peril of John Scholfield Recalled

Westerly Historical Society

"Received a trunk from England; knowing the English were very angry because of his introducing the art of woolen manufacturing in America and fearing the trunk had been sent to do him harm, he opened the trunk by removing the hinges. He then discovered a pistol so arranged that the turning of the key in the lock of the trunk would discharge the firearm and kill the person opening the trunk."

• Norwich bulletin. (Norwich, Conn.), 13 Feb. 1915. Chronicling America: Historic American Newspapers. Lib. of Congress. 

Article can be found at: 

• Disarming the Trunk from England
• <https://chroniclingamerica.loc.gov/lccn/sn82014086/1915-02-13/ed-1/seq-6/>

Scholfield Family from Yorkshire, England

President Madison's Inaugural Suit
Broadcloth made from Wool

Ingenious and Able Mechanics

While visiting with my maternal grandmother when she lived with my parents, I took out the family Bible and went over some of the clippings that were carefully put in the pages and asked her who put them there and why. This was one that I have scanned and lightened up. There is no source of the newspaper and I have been searching for that for years. (It would have been nice if the heading wasn't cut off.) Grandmother told me that Schofields were smart and prosperous. She told me they sewed tools in their clothes and memorized the directions for the machinery they needed to make.

John Scholfield (1789-1869) was my 5th great grandfather. His wife was Hannah Fox.

Wild and Wooley English Ancestors

Scholfield Ancestors

Where is Saddleworth, England?

Photo by Midge Frazel, 10 July 2019

The majority of my English ancestors have been studied for many, many years by the Family Societies that I have joined. This surname is one that I have not found a society for. In 2014, a woman who was a docent contacted me because she was doing research about the wool industry. Her name was Gail L. Ralston and she was kind enough to send me the paper she wrote (2004-2007) and articles I probably would never have found.  One is from the Smithsonian Institution, "The Scholfield Wool-Carding Machines" by Grace L. Rogers.

When I picked this line up again, I found that maps are starting to appear at Ancestry.com. You might want to look at your tree to see if you have one. I put an arrow pointing to the word Saddleworth on the map.

Ancestry.com 4 July 2019 Arthur Scholefield of Saddleworth, England

Prickly Summer: Alternative Sources

Courtesy of B. Fallon and the Westerly Public Library, 7 May 2019

Prickly Summer: Alternative Sources

In every list of sources beyond the usual census records, family Bibles and land and house records are the mostly ignored "modern day" phone directories probably because they are not archived in places that are easily accessible to researchers who do not travel to the locations where their families lived.

My great aunt, Dorothy B. Bliven, a divorcee, led a prickly early life but managed to move above and beyond her troubles. She was my grandmother's baby sister and someone I knew and loved. 

Finding out more about her has been a genealogy mission for this past winter because she was part of our holiday celebrations and her memory is one I want to preserve for my daughter. 

I discovered this week that the Westerly, Rhode Island library holds more records past the last city directory available at Ancestry.com. (1948) and that more than one of the city directories held there doesn't contain every page that I needed. 

This is why I consider myself lucky to have my friend who can go there and look things up for me. This is one of my most rewarding genealogical experiences to have her to help me. 

Places of Childhood: Garden City

Places of my Childhood
Garden City, Cranston, RI

Land and Tax Assessor card from the city of Cranston, Rhode Island. 5 Apr. 2019

A few years after my maternal grandparents married, they moved to Cranston, Rhode Island from Westerly, Rhode Island. They lived in that town for the rest of their lives, and I have been busy researching the family homes and their family owned business. I have had great success with following their path through life.

These grandparents found a small ranch style home for their daughter, who was my mother, and they put down a deposit to help my father purchase a house. It was in that house and neighborhood that I grew up. We called it "The Plat". (Photo Collection)

I remember my father talking to a man in a big black car and he turned out to be the builder, Mr. Melocarro.  From public tax assessor records, created from Cranston city ledger books, I found out that a close by shopping area was built by that same builder on land once owned by William Harris (Rhode Island Monthly) It was great to find out who owned this land and that he did not come for religious reasons but to find land for his family and business.

I just barely remember the coal mine, where the Newport Creamery now still stands. At Christmas, they put up a carousel in the parking lot and I visited Santa Claus. 

Back door of the Creamery, 2014, collection of the author.

It wasn't until I looked for a record for the Garden City Elementary School, that I found out the name of the plot of land that Mr. Melocarro set aside for development. I had not thought to look here for records.

It is a big breakthrough in my investigation of my family history.  

Wills and Probate Records for a Brick Wall Ancestor

Wills and Probate Records
for a Brick Wall Ancestor

Lieut. William Steward

abt. 1692 - 1755

I certainly didn't expect to see any more records for my 6th great grandfather, Lieut. William Steward. I knew there was one because it is mentioned in the book, History of Stonington (CT). I knew that Judge Wheeler must have had access to records because of his status in his community. This is interesting because stories abound of he and a friend jumping ship to come to America and that he paid for gravestones for his first wife and himself  and that they lie in the woods somewhere in North Stonington. None of this has been proven.

When I read about this in 2004, people who may have known the location of the gravestones had died. As a gravestone photographer, I knew that the stones might have sunk into the ground by now or be paid for and never erected.  The Barbour Index of Vital Records lists the death of his first wife and his marriage to his second wife. Several researchers have suggested who his father was but no proof was given.

I was surprised to see how many documents are in the will and probate. I did know of one grandson (with gravestone) buried in the Stewart Hill cemetery. But, family that holds the deed says that no one older is buried there.

Everyone loves a good genealogy mystery, don't they? By the way, is it Stewart or Steward?

The Memory Fades: Family You Know and Family You Didn't

The Memory Fades

Family You Know and Family You Didn't

The summer before I was two years old, I met my only living great grandfather, who was my grandmother's father. I didn't remember meeting him until my mother showed me her wedding photos. My parents were both in the room and my mother said that I couldn't possibly remember him since I was a baby when he died. I was 1 year, 11 months and 7 days old when he died. 

When I described him coming into the room where I was playing on the floor at my grandfather's feet, my father asked me to tell them exactly what I remember. 

My mother looked astounded and my father made a "hurumpf" sound. I was quite sure that I was alone in my grandmother's house that day with my grandparents taking care of me. 

The clincher was that I remembered that he smelled strongly of cigarettes and what my grandmother said to my grandfather when she opened the French doors and gave her father a gentle push inside the living room.

Neither thing is provable but she said, "Evans.  J. Fred is here". The man, the oldest person in my family at that point, came directly to me and ruffled my hair. I thought, "Oh, the other grandpa." and went back to playing with the puzzle of blocks on the floor.  He sat down in a chair next to my grandfather and talked to him.

Don't discount even a tiny memory of what you remember. I will always be glad I remember that. 

These are the only three surviving photos of James Frederick Barber (1866-1949) One taken in 1918, one taken in a group photo in 1938 and the one of him at my parent's wedding in 1946. He was always called J. Fred. 

Who was alive in your lifetime? 

The Memory Fades: How to be an Organized Person

Photo of Erin Condren Paper Pads, erincondren.com, 2019

The Memory Fades: How to be Organized

I have had people tell me that I am both too organized and too clean. One girl in college bullied me because my room was clean and I was too stuck up. I was a freshman and she was a senior. Others turned against her because they through she was wrong. But, that was only the beginning. I didn't realize that for the many years to come, people would pick on me for what I was good at. It wasn't until I got good at computers that I noticed people getting even more jealous. 

Before the memory fades, I'd like to say that I didn't immediately join the Facebook group "The Organized Genealogist" because I knew it was something I could not teach to others. When I was invited again, I did so but I seldom read it. There were too many other groups I needed to learn from. 

I think our mothers and grandmothers influence us in ways that make us successful.  My mother struggled to maintain order but she worked at it because she didn't like working and she took her "job" as housewife seriously. After talking with men friends, one of the topics where they think their girlfriends or wives could improve was "keeping house". Think about the number of census records you have read that list that as the female occupation. Women ran the farm or the store, took in laundry and seamstress work. Dawn to dusk repeats itself in many journals women wrote. 

My mother, tired of my messy room and unmade bed, at age 4 or 5, insisted that I learn to manage my own life. She had been teaching me to make my own bed when I moved from the crib to a bed. As soon as I was able, it was not optional that I do so every single morning. Because I have no siblings, I didn't know people didn't make their bed until I was old enough to ride my bike in my neighborhood.

Mom did a very radical thing. She took a bedsheet and dumped the entire contents of it into the middle and tied it up with a big rubber bands. The contents of my room was in layers, toys, books, clothes were inside. I was not allowed out of the house until I had put everything where it belonged. I don't recommend this to others because I discovered that I enjoyed keeping my room in order and demanded a bookcase, a desk and a toy chest. I was never messy again. I became less social. My room was my own queen's domain.

Although I do not agree with everything in his book, much of it can make us think about how we live and what can give us stress. I can improve areas of my life and maybe make it easier to decide what is important. One thing to remember is that this is translated from another language and cultural differences are obvious.

The Memory Fades: Why Do Genealogists Remember?

Last Night in my Crib
collection of the author
Photo by Dorothy Frances Stewart Broadfoot
Taken in Cranston, Rhode Island

The Memory Fades 

Why do Genealogists Remember?

I know that this photo looks faded. So many of the photographs in my personal collection are fading because my mother and I looked at them a lot together. I'm not sorry that we did because otherwise I would not know some of my family history and I would not understand my childhood from the perspective of my parents and grandparents. My mother was annoyed when I wanted to label, date and write down our conversations about photographs. She wanted me to listen but she didn't want me to remember. She wanted me to live in the moment.

Dementia runs wild in my family tree, partly because so many of my ancestors lived to be very elderly and partly because dementia is a by-product of other medical conditions. Death records mention this over and over like bad song lyrics. It is hard to pick apart metal illness from physical ailments. 

Because genealogists live in a strange world of records, memories and photographs, my own personal history gets shoved to the background and I fear that I will not leave any impressions behind of, well, me. I do think that my fellow genealogists share this fear. I don't think that this is just because I am an only child, only grandchild and for a time, an only great grandchild. It is because to us, our ancestors are more fun to work with.

I stopped blogging through the holidays because I want to learn to live in the moment. I've read so much about mindfulness and how regular day to day life is giving me anxiety. Do genealogists think too much about the past or is it something that is happening to me now because I am in my 70s? 

Should I be fearful that dementia is already happening inside my brain?

I think I should write about some things that I remember because there is no photograph that matches the memory because we can't take a photograph of everything. I suspect the generations that follow me will try to do just that. 

Blogging was designed to be about short writing. I think that is why so many have stopped writing blog posts. Writing is time consuming, so let's just take a photograph so we won't forget. Is that going to work?

Some studies suggest that writing with a pen in a journal helps us remember better than recording with a computer and sharing online. What do you think?

Prickly Fall: Edward Stewart's House

Prickly Fall: Edward Stewart's House

House on Stewart Hill, North Stonington, CT abt. 1900
At the time of this photo, house belonged to George P. Stewart
shared with me by the North Stonington, CT Historical Society and the Westerly, RI Library

Ever since the summer of 2004, when I went in search of information on my Stewart family who lived in North Stonington, Connecticut,  I have been in love with the story of Edward and Rebecca (Noyes) Stewart. They were my 3rd great grandparents and my great grandfather, Charles Edward Stewart's grandparents. 

The History of Stonington by Richard Anson Wheeler (the second compiled genealogy I owned), tells me that "all that knew him loved him." 

What could be more important than that?

From the History of Stonington (CT) page 607 Stewart
Family found in an  out of copyright Google Book and my copy in print.

We had to move fast. The house was set to be torn down. We got there in time to take photos and look at the cemetery. My friend, Gladys Chase directed us to the next cemetery where Edward's parents are buried. It is still my most amazing genealogy adventure.

They tore down the house and then the cemetery was endangered. But, we found who held the deed and they restored the cemetery. Today, the place where the house stood is a new housing development but The Stewart Hill Cemetery is safe.

What did Charles Edward Stewart inherit though his father, Dudley Wheeler Stewart from the house of Edward and Rebecca? It took two probate records to be sure.

Think about it: the desk in my own parent's living room came from this house!

Pricky Fall: Whose Desk is it?

Probate Record of Charles Edward Stewart, 1937, Cranston, RI
(as gathered for me by Diane Boumenot, 2018)

Pricky Fall: Whose Desk is it?

My maternal uncle, Evans Stewart, Jr. (1917-1951) inherited from his grandfather, cash, shares of stock in the family business and an antique desk that belonged to Charles E. Stewart's grandfather. In an instant, I knew that this must be the desk in the small photo that I wrote about previously. 

It was the "belonged to my GRANDFATHER", that made me sit up and take notice. Charles's grandfather was Edward Stewart (1774-1837) of North Stonington, CT. So, this desk was older than I thought. It must have been in the house on Stewart Hill when Edward's son Dudley W. Stewart took it to his home after his mother Rebecca Noyes Stewart died in 1842. Dudley was her youngest child. More on this in the next blog post.

Notice, that my mother, Dorothy was given more money than her brother and NO shares in the family business. Clearly a patriarchal situation. But, my mother was charged with inheriting and distributing 1/2 the contents of the house. She was a college student at this time.

My uncle was not yet 21 when he was supposed to inherit the desk and the shares. The plot thickens.

Prickly Fall: The Case of the Disappearing Desk

Photos in the family collection of Midge Frazel, 2018

Prickly Fall: The Case of the Disappearing Desk

Part 1

As you can see in the right hand photo, I was quite small when my mother had this desk in our living room in Cranston, RI. (photo dated January 1952) I still don't know where this desk went but I do know that furniture in my maternal family was always moving around from house to house. 

The Victor Cleaning Co. truck made frequent trips from my grandparents home to ours over the years. I even have a photo taken of the truck in our driveway and I know they weren't delivering clean clothes to our home. We had a station wagon for just such purposes.

As I have been getting some scanning done of my own childhood photos, I have been discovering that our photos and the few taken from previous generations begin to line up because of the items in the background of the photos. I am lucky, my ancestors wrote things down and talked to me about the past.

The photo of me with mom is one of several taken on the same night in 1952. Mom's clothes and mine are the same and two of the photos have the developing date on them.

But, I have no idea where this desk went. The drop down top tells me this is a desk and not a chest of drawers.

This week, I solved the mystery of who originally owned this desk.

Prickly Fall: Fear of Jumping Off

Prickly Fall: Fear of Jumping Off

From the Family Collection of Midge Frazel, circa 1948-1949
60 Hilltop Dr. Cranston, RI

This is the only photo I can find that shows the concrete steps and section that connects the house to the garage at my childhood home. It was a favorite picture spot but photos usually were taken closer to the back door with someone coming or going out of the kitchen.

When I was in the first grade, my mother got the idea that I should be encouraged to jump off to the driveway by not using the stairs. I looked down and then over to the stairs and wondered why it would be better to jump than use the stairs. What was the purpose of the stairs? 

My mother obviously wanted me to be more aggressive and be like other kids. What happened was that I waited until I was taller and heavier to do things like that. She wanted it now, so she could catch me since I tended to move away from people if they came near me. I didn't like the way people smelled or touched me without warning. 

There was a neighbor man who wanted me to sit on his lap. I refused. My father told me I should be kind to the man who didn't have children. When my father went into the garage to get more chairs, I told him that he couldn't make me and that I would tell my grandmother. 

His face changed. My grandmother owned the business. I learned that that was something my father was afraid of...losing his job. In 1971, she did just that, sold the business out from under him. 

While in college I was frequently told, that I should try to "get along" and be "more fun". Instead I observed people and made my own mind up that I didn't like people who jumped without using the stairs, so to speak. People found out the hard way that I was aggressive when they weren't paying attention. It is a prickly way to live but it works for me.

#leaveyourfearsbehind

Rose Gold: Grandmother's Bracelet

Rose Gold: Grandmother's Bracelet

Bracelet given to my grandmother by my grandfather, date unknown but post 1914
Close-up of rings in the bracelet

I love my grandmother's (or should I say grandfather's), taste in jewelry. I have inherited and kept most of my maternal grandmother's jewelry because it is simple and sturdy. 

For a couple of weeks, I have been thinking about the focus of my family history book and realized that the name of my project should be called the Rose Gold Project because Rose Gold is so different. I have searched my jewelry collection for the pieces that match my grandmother's wedding band. My grandfather gave my mother a rose gold Movado watch. The band, which is fabric, broke and it sits in the box, unworn. I can't read the watch face anymore but I keep it anyway.

But, wait! The watch is evidence that my GRANDFATHER bought that watch, my grandmother's ring and this bracelet. It wasn't that my grandmother liked it, HE did. Family history at its best.

The Project name will be a subtitle and it fits well with the title I have chosen.

The bracelet is rose gold and yellow gold and I have decided to start wearing it. It is comfortable and sits well on my wrist. The ovals are rose gold and the squares are yellow good.

It will keep me company while I write. 

Rose Gold: Gathering the Right Materials

Rose Gold: Gathering the Right Materials

Preparing to Write a Family History

Photo by Midge Frazel 26 Sept. 2018, materials by Erin Condren.com

In 2016, I began thinking about planning and writing about my family business and what to include. I started writing last year in sections in a spiral bound EC notebook with removable pages. That was a good idea because it let me pre-write without fear of forgetting where I left off. 

Now, I need to make a better writing plan and add in the people from my family that made the story happen. It needs to be in a small book because it will need to look like it is meant to be kept or cherished. I named this project, "Rose Gold" because my grandmother's wedding ring is rose gold and it had endured as well as is in fashion today.

I pulled together two small bound notebooks with non removable pages to look like a set because the story won't fit in just one book. I also picked a blank journal to use so that it will look like a scrapbook of evidence. You'll see. Then I started buying stickers to be used a section or chapter dividers. I have written headings to fit the text and I am going first to write in the productivity book so that I can build my timeline without feeling that this story needs to be written sequentially or in chronicle-date order. That technique build suspense and make the research look inviting to read about.

I won't be writing matching blogs posts very often but instead writing about the process as I write in the books you see here. People are more interested in how to do it for themselves than they are reading about my family.

I am going to call it "Away at My Dreams" because it was something my daughter said to me when she was really little and thought she actually went somewhere while she was sleeping. 

Prickly Fall: Being a Widow

Prickly Fall: Being a Widow

This summer, I lost a friend, very suddenly and then another and then another. Then, my husband's cousin, Eleanor, who was a recent widow when we moved here, passed away. She was in her late nineties. 

There's nothing more prickly than death whenever it happens. It is disturbing and makes you question your own age and existence. Who leaves this world and who gets left behind can make you fearful of what tomorrow can bring. 

People who aren't on social media are getting hard to keep in touch with. I found out about one death by using the online newspaper for that location just because I had a funny feeling. I sent a card to the widow followed by an email. She felt comfortable enough to call me. I was glad to hear her voice and she shared details with me. I hope everyone is so brave. My daughter wanted me to scan some photos for her to keep of these friends. 

I found one this morning that I cropped down to share. It was a 25th anniversary photo I took more that 25 years ago. They look so young in the wedding photo and since I didn't know them when they married, I should have taken a close-up after the cake was cut.

Photo taken by the author and privately held.

I begin to think about how many women in my family were widowed.

My paternal grandmother died a bit before her husband but my maternal grandmother became a widow at age 62 and lived to be 98. I learned from her that you just have to take life a day at a time. I went through my print photographs until I found the last photo I took of her and scanned it. She was living with my parents but died in a nursing home. She told me she was wondering why she was still alive. I didn't have an answer for that question.

Prickly Fall: The Railroad Tracks Lesson

Leave Your Fears Behind

Local RR Crossing Acton, MA 5 Sept 2018

This summer, hubs and I stopped at a local railroad crossing and I suddenly remembered the lesson my father gave me at the railroad tracks behind the houses on Bowling Lane in Bradford, RI.

It must have been a time when my mother wasn't with us because she would not have approved of us going down so near to the tracks.

We went down a long series of stairs behind one of the houses. My dad looked at his watch and went out on the tracks. I was not nuts about following him. He told me to put my hands on the rails. It was vibrating. I saw no trains either way or a railroad stop like the one shown above.

Dad said that I should never go out on the tracks alone. We climbed back up the stairs and we waited what seemed like a long time until we could see the train coming. He said that you could always feel the vibration before the train actually came but it was very dangerous.

When I moved to Bridgewater from Rhode Island as a newlywed, I had no car to drive so I had to walk from our apartment to get groceries, go to the bank or the library.  I had to cross the tracks into town. When my parents came up for the first time, my dad took me aside and reminded me of the train lesson. I told him that I remembered and that I was still afraid to cross. Year after year the nearby college reported that kids took the shortcut by walking over the tracks and even some adults have been hurt on the tracks.

This is a good life lesson. Always be aware of your surroundings and don't take chances near the railroad tracks. It you see the train coming wait it out. There have been a lot of times when I have thought of dad and this lesson.

Proceed with caution. Life is short enough.