Introduction

This article contains the first part of the text of a letter which my great grandfather, George Haywood (1854 - 1937), wrote to his daughter Clarice at Christmas 1920. Unfortunately I do not have the original letter as it was in the possession of one of Clarice's daughters who has since passed away. However, every time I read it, the family comes alive for me. I have always thought it contained a wealth of information. It has been what I have used to help me find his Uncles and his grandfather. The clues are there to be put together.

Even though he had emigrated to and settled in the United States of America, he had encyclopaedic knowledge of his family history and maintained fond memories of Derbyshire, the English the county of his birth. Although we may currently believe that amateur genealogy is a relatively modern phenomenon, this remarkable document is now nearly ninety years old. George's dearest wish was to distribute his thoughts and information to his future generations. The internet allows us to grant that wish.

The letter

Sheridan, Wyoming
December 24, 1920

Mrs. C. V. Westover
Cambria, Wyoming

My dear Clarice:

For several months past I have been wanting to write you some particulars of my early life and training, and about the family or families from which you sprang, for I realize, that unless this is done now, while there is yet time, you might be left in ignorance regarding your ancestry; and it may be, if fortune favors you in the years to come, you would want to visit old England and look over the places where Mother and I played when we were young. And I know that if you did not have the information which I propose to write in this letter, you would feel strange in strange scenes; but by knowing something of the family you can pass it on to your children and, in this way, all will have a knowledge of it.

Somehow, my early life and training seem to center around my Grandfather Haywood (your great-grandfather), one of those grand old men who, in that period, was the backbone of old England, and who gave of their time and money and talents to help and assist those who were not so fortunate as they. To my Uncle Richard Haywood, also, I owe a debt of gratitude which can never be repaid, for the encouragement he gave me at a time when the mind is open to impressions; and although we were separated by many miles, (he being in Durham County and I in Derbyshire), yet we kept up a constant correspondence and in many ways he helped me by the gift of good books and encouraging advice.

The books I had were very few - an arithmetic, a grammar, a geography, which I used at school, all of which were very dry and stale in comparison with the books now used; and none of these were more than 4 ½ inches by 7 inches in size. So you can guess that study was much more of a hardship then than it is now. I think even at this late date that my father was more than usually severe with his children, and I know that he compelled me to perform tasks which even now I do not care to mention. He is dead and the least said about these things is probably the best. In those days, and even in later years, I had an idea that he did not care for me as he did for my brothers, although I was the eldest of the family. One thing I noticed, he never bought me any books although he was a great reader himself. Yes, I remember now, he once bought me a copy of Scott’s 'Lady of the Lake', after a trip to Mansfield, which was about eight miles from our home, a long distance to go in those days. The only other books I remember we had at home was a book of 'Latin Roots', Aristotle, and a herbal book, which gave pictures and descriptions of various plants, which grew around the country, some of which I had to gather every fall and bring them home to be dried so we could use them for medicines during the winter. We had no doctors in our village, and if anyone got sick they depended almost entirely on these herbs for getting well. But people seldom got sick in those days, and lived to a ripe old age. Many there were in my native village, when I was a boy, who were from 70 to 90 years of age, and some of these were much better and stronger people at that age than some of the girls of this age are at 20. Both my Grandmother Haywood and Grandmother Housley were of this kind, and it was no trick at for either of them to carry twenty five pounds of beef or mutton in a stone jar on their heads without holding a hand to it, and my mother could do the same thing.

The loss of my mother and a boken leg

To my mother I am deeply indebted for whatever success I have made in life, for her kindly help, her good counsel and advice, for her last words to me were, "Be a good boy." I can see her now, as I left her that Saturday morning, standing at the top of the stairs with a candle in her hand. Her hair was the same color as yours, and it was hanging loosely over her shoulders, part in front and part in back, and all she had on was her night dress. She had got up to call me to go to work and probably had a premonition that her time had come, for when I came home from work about 1:30 p.m. a large crowd was about the house, the doctor was just leaving, and Mother was dead. (He had been summoned from Alfreton three miles away).

The following years seem more like a dream, and events crowd one after another until I have not distinct recollection of what took place. I had been very ambitious and wanted to be a scholar. I wanted to study chemistry, and I wanted to be an artist; and I well remember one of my painful efforts in the latter direction. It was a picture of a farm-yard scene, showing horse and cattle, chickens and geese, the farm house with pigeons on the roof, a farmer’s cart, a large farmyard, a pump, and the out buildings where the cattle were lodged. And it showed a trailing vine coming around the corner of the house, and finding its way to upper story windows. It was such a scene as one can see in many places in England, and I worked many, many hours to make a faithful copy of it, using the same colors as far as possible to give life to the scene. This was begun during the period when my Aunts (Housley side) were keeping house for us after my mother’s death. In this period I had the misfortune to be run over in the mine, and was taken out from under a car with my left leg broken above the knee. This kept me home for 18 weeks, and it was during my convalescence from this accident that I put in most of my time on the picture I have told you of above. In the meantime, Father married again; married a young woman who was only a few years older than I, and from the first we were at 'odds'. This was caused by her refusal to allow me to eat at the same table with her; and you can imagine my disappointment and grief after a few days, coming home from work one night, I could not find the picture I had been working on and I asked her where it was. The answer I got was, "I stuffed it in the fire. I can find thee plenty of work to do without fooling thee time away wi’ them things."

And thus ended my dream of being an artist.

Continued in column 2...

Words fail me to describe how I felt; but for many days, I thought and thought, and considered from all points of view, what was best for me to do. On my father’s account I did not wish to leave home, and yet I knew that the feeling between me and my new mother would intensify, and I should get no encouragement from her whatever, to pursue my studies. In fact, I was so discouraged in those days, I scarcely knew what was best to do, but after taking the matter up with Father, I realized more deeply than ever the loss I had sustained in the death of my own mother, and finally, with many misgivings, I left home, and went to board with one of my father’s brothers, John, who was married and the gave me a good home. Later, I left them and went to live at Blackwell Colliery, boarding with Mr. Samuel Chadbourn. Mr. Chabourn was the Boss Carpenter at Blackwell and both he and Mrs. Chadbourn were very kind and considerate, and made me feel as though I was a member of their own family. They were young married people, and had a nice home, and two children, a boy and a girl, and were members of the same church (Chapel) to which I belonged, and on Sundays we used to go to Chapel in the afternoon, and sometimes went to Mrs. Chadbourn’s parents for tea, and then went to the evening service at 6 o’clock. This was usually over by 8 p.m. and afterwards, when the weather permitted, we took long walks in the beautiful twilight of eventide. We have none like them here. And sometimes there would be 3 or 4 or even half a dozen other families out enjoying the pleasant evenings.

It was while living with the Chadbourns that my attention was again directed towards drawing, for Mr. Chadbourn was an architect of no mean ability and spent most of his spare time in preparing plans and specifications for house, stores, etc., being built in the surrounding towns. He directed my attention to line drawing and I took that up, making drawings of various store fronts, houses, churches, etc., and finally centered on machinery. Many, in fact, all but one of the pictures we had in our home when I gave up my position and came to the United States, were made by myself; and some of these were considered very good by those who were competent to judge.

Study and chapel

It was while I was with the Chadbourns that I began to study in reality. I knew practically nothing except how to read and write, and the first four parts of arithmetic – addition, subtraction, multiplication, and by my own unaided efforts acquired a fair knowledge of all three subjects, that is, technically. I had not yet had a chance to do practical work in mine surveying, because this subject was taboo with working men. While here, I also took up the study of music, bought me a small organ (harmonium), and was allowed by the Chadbourns to place it in the front room, and many were the pleasant evenings we spent singing revival hymns, mostly those of Sankey and Moody. As soon as I became proficient I was put in charge as organist at the Primitive Methodist Chapel, which is the same as the Methodist Episcopal Church here. I look back to those days with pleasure, for it was while I was living with these kind people that I began to have a larger outlook on life, and while with them I was made happy by a visit from Uncle Richard of whom I have already spoken. I should have been really happy except for the estrangement which still existed between my new mother and me. For in justice to my father I must say he was always glad to see me, asked how I was getting on, etc. And further, I should say that it was my own fault that I went to work when I was ten years of age. I was going to a school at Alfreton, which was three miles from home (it was called Shaw’s Academy) and I took my dinner every day, but was home on Saturday and Sunday. On Saturday it became a constant practice for me to go to the coal mine where my father worked; and run around the mine with various trapper boys and drivers. I guess I must have been a good deal of a nuisance in those days to those to those who feared for my safety. Anyway, father told me that I must quit going to the mine, or become a regular employee, subject to the rules and regulations like all other employees. And I elected to go in the mine rather than continue my studies at school, which now were, as I thought, becoming quite irksome.

Since that time I have been a worker, and many of the things which I promised myself I would do are still undone, for I have not had the time or means to follow them up. "Of all sad words of tongue or pen, the saddest are these, ‘It might have been’"

To be continued ....

Proceed to Part 2. Grandfather Haywood's Progeny

References

1. Blackwell Colliery In "North Derbyshire Collieries on old picture postcards": Alan Bower. Published by Reflections of a Bygone Age (1993)
2. The Life and Works of Dwight Lyman Moody: Bible Believers
3. David Ira Sankey: Blue Letter Bible: Hymns

Page added - April 28th 2008
Last updated - April 13th 2012

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