MY EARLY CHILDHOOD
On August 4, 1876 I made my appearance, a happy event in mother and father’s life. Mother being pregnant during the summer suffered from the heat of the hot sun beating down its terrific heat on the little house mid the sagebrush [which] made it almost unbearable. No trees to give shade, no cooling breeze to fan your brow. There were no anesthetics, no doctors, no hospital, only a midwife to attend mother. All babies were born at home in those days. She got along fine and I thrived and grew. Mother often said how proud she was of her dark-eyed baby with her dark hair. Mother had dark eyes and coal black hair. Mine never became coal-black. Mother said I walked and talked early and was a real chatterbox and a great comfort to them. She often told me I would play for hours with a stick and a small pan of water. I cannot understand why I am so frightened of water now. I do not like boat riding, or bathing in a pool or lake. I never enjoy to see diving from diving boards. I am always afraid they will not come up to the top again. It is surely a silly idea to have.
Sandy still being a branch of South Cottonwood ward, thus it was necessary to take me there to be named Kjersti Elizabeth. Perhaps the name was too long so they started to call me Betsey and Betsey it was until I was 14 years old when I insisted on being called Elizabeth on the school record and on the church books. All my folks still call me Betsey as well as some of my school mates who are still alive. Kjersti (Chersti) was father’s mother’s mane, a typical Swedish name and never could be pronounced correctly on account of its spelling. I never liked it myself so I never use it.
When I was nearly two years old on May 27, 1898 my brother came. He was a large baby and mother was not so well for a long time after his birth. She had a midwife to attend her at his birth also. Sandy was growing and times were somewhat better now. A mercantile store was established so yard goods and some clothing and notions could be bought here at home. Union Ward was now organized so Sandy became a branch of it at the time. My brother was named John Andrew in this new Sandy branch. Mother and father walking all the way there and back carrying the baby a distance of 4 or 5 miles to the Union Ward. I imagine they were very tired after such a long walk.
Grandmother would often go pick wild flowers which at time grew all over the prairie, blue bells, paint brushes and Indian bells. Sunflowers grew in profusion mid the sagebrush also white lilies, we called them primroses. In early morn or late evening they would send their fragrant aroma. Violets would also be found. Going to school we would pick a nice bunch for the teacher. Now no flowers are found, all the prairie is now farms or building subdivisions.
Grandmother would often take me in her walk to gather wild flowers. She often related an incident which happened to me one day when a train passed me. Father’s land ran parallel with the railroad with a road between. We were walking on this road when the engine gave a shrill whistle as a station signal. It frightened me so I nearly went into hysterics. I never got over that fright and often when coming home from school in later years I would hide in the sagebrush until it passed by because I was afraid it would give a whistle. Even to this day I do not like the looks of an engine nor do I like to hear it give a whistle when I am near by. Now the Diesel engine has taken its place but the whistle is still shrill and loud.
I often think of the old fashioned engine with its high smoke stack, black smoke billowing from it, switching it cars laden with ore from the main line into the switch which led to the smelter a little distance from my home. All my childhood is associated with freight and passenger trains moving past on schedule time. How important I felt as a child when the engineers would wave to me, if I happened to be in the yard and I would wave back to them. The ground would vibrate under me and I would wonder at the power of that engine drawing also many cars loaded with ore and coal. The passenger train was the only means of transportation between our town and Salt Lake City except with horse and buggy. We had no trucks in those early days so everything was hauled by rail. There is something fascinating about a train yet we in our day 1960 there are more modes of traveling, yet I like the train the best. When we ride on the luxurious California Jepher on which I have ridden in later years with its air conditioned diners and pulmans a grateful feeling comes over me, very different from the feeling of whiter seat and red plush seats and the coal oil lamps hanging from the ceiling. What a change for the better a few years make.
Father planted his farm in alfalfa or lucern as it is called and decided to buy a cow, a pig, and some chickens. He also built a barn and chicken coop. He planted two nice locust trees in front of the house and an orchard of apple, pear, plum and peach trees. The peach trees did not do so well in that soil. Along the rows between the trees he planted gooseberry, raspberry, currant and blackberry bushes. In the space between the trees we had our vegetable garden of tomatoes, turnips, beets, carrots, beans and early potatoes, cucumber and squash. Grandmother would plant the pits or stones of all kinds of plums along the irrigation ditch bank and the result was we had all kind of plums. It seems plum pits would grow and in a few years would bear fruit. We also grew our won herbs, such as thyme, arrise seed, and caroway seed. We also had horseradish, parsley, and chives. We also had an grape arbor. [Missing something in the margin]
I was nearly 6 years old when my little sister arrived on May 31, 1882. I remember the event very well. Grandmother entertained my brother and myself until we were allowed to see the new baby. She also had dark eyes but blond hair (it later became dark brown). I was very proud I could rock my little sister in the cradle. On September 2, 1882 Sandy branch was organized into a ward [with] Ezekiel Holman as bishop, Emil Hartvigsen as 1st Counselor and Andrew O. Gealta (my father) as 2nd Counselor. (I must state here when my father got his citizen papers he had the name Gealta added to his name Olson. It really was his father’s name but it was spelled Hjelte in the Swedish language so he was now known as Andrew Olson Gealta). My sister was one of the first babies named and blessed in the new Sandy Ward. She was given the name of Mary Ann Gealta.
This new calling made father a very busy man. He still worked at the railroad shops and his farm work too so he did not have an idle moment. He was very good-hearted and believed in helping his neighbor. Many an immigrant family made his home their home until they could adjust themselves to get a place of their own. Many saints still came from his homeland to Utah and had to arrange for a place to live after they arrived here and he was always willing to help them.
After working at the shops for so many years father decided he wanted to become a real farmer so he bought 15 acres more of land which made him a 20 acre farm. It was so hard to get help when needed on the farm so he quite his job at the shops which had been moved to Bingham Junction (now called Midvale). It was a long walk morning and night. He thought it would be much better to attend to his farm himself than to hire someone else to work it.
He bought a span of Gray horses and implements of every kind need for farm work. Our horses came from Grantsville, Utah. One of them was very gentle and the other one was more active and afraid of the train or an empty car or would often shy from a piece of paper if he had to pass it on the road. Father bought a harness, plow and harrow. He was very proud of his span of gray horses. These horses actually ran away from him one day while plowing. He left them for a moment when something frightened them. Father thought the plow would surely hurt them, but somehow it was miraculously unbuckled from the plow. They were nearly to Grantsville, their old home, when they were caught. Some of their harness had to be repaired. After this episode he had to be very careful to it would not happen again.
Dry Creek was a creek running east to west about a mile from my home (south). This creek would dry up in the late summer which gave it the name of Dry Creek. On it banks during early spring and early summer shrubs and wild rose bushes grew in abundance and would bloom making the creed very attractive. We as children would often hike there and have fun sliding down its white sand banks. We would often take our shoes and stockings off and wade in its cooling water and pick pretty shaped rocks from its creek bed. The ravine where the little stream flowed was very wide and deep. The high banks on each side were of white sand where we had fund sliding from top to bottom as I said before. I believe we had as much fun there as on any roller coaster that we have now.
A wooden railroad tresile which was later filled in with dirt and a tunnel of granite rock was built through this fill to carry the water through when there was any and down to the Jordan River. A canal cemented runs over this trestle or fill also carrying water to farmers to irrigate their farms. What wont’ children do. We would dare each other to run through this damp dark tunnel under the railroad track. I never enjoyed it as it gave me an eerie feeling and made me frightened. A great wreck happened to the passenger train on this trestle when I was a little girl. I heavy cloudburst of rain had weakened the track bed so the rails spread and the engine and several coaches left the track and hung perilously down the sides. I don’t remember if anyone was hurt but I remember very distinctly going down to see the disaster. It was here in this creek I was poisoned by Poison Ivy which I have mentioned before.
In 1956 and 1955 a building boom has been in progress. Many new subdivisions have been opened up and many new homes have been built. Even up on the banks of this creek and south of it along 7th East Street. I can hardly realize it, even a little city has been built on the south side called White City. A new chapel and a new school house have also been built there. Little did I think when we as children roamed these dry sand hills and ravines picking wild flowers, blue bells, violets, paint brushes, crow feet daisies and sunflowers, that a city would be built here.
Father enjoyed being a farmer. He bought more cows and also a sheep or two. Often when large sheep herds would pass by our land as the often did in those days, we children would often get a tired lamb for 25 cents and we would raise it on a bottle. Father was very worried about our well, the timbers were decaying. One day it caved in and now the question arose, “What to do for water?” He decided to dig two ponds, one for the cattle and one for culinary purposes to store water in. These ponds were emptied and filled with fresh water every time his water turn came around every week or ten days.
I remember when a little girl
We had a deep deep well
Its timber did one day decay
And a tragedy befell.
Our well caved in without a sound
Something must be done in a hurry
For without a drop of water
Is a source of worry.
We’ve often heard the saying
And may have wondered why
“We never miss the water
Until the well runs dry.”
Father thoughtful of the future
Was in a quandary
I guess “I’ll dig a pond or two”
One for cattle and one for culinary.
So the ponds were dug with care
And filled with water clear
From the cool cool mountain stream
Flowing by quite near.
The one pond became quite famous
For ten long years or more
It was a place for baptisms
(Soon t’will be folklore).
Father’s baptisms through the years
Ran into the thousands
I wish he’d kept a record
Of children and those of foreign lands.
Until our chapels finished,
Which in the future looms
Mothers rooms were available
To use as dressing rooms.
We never thought of germs or microbes
In those bygone days
As we used the culinary water
As we do these modern days.
No chloridation was thought of then
Now it is a must
Because the streams are contaminated
From particles in the air and dust.
We used these ponds for many years
No one was ever ill
In later years a new well was dug
So no more ponds to fill
Now our chapel is finished
The pond is used no more
For that sacred purpose, baptism
Like we did in years of yore.
In a few years twill be forgotten
When the old times passes on
Perhaps twill be on record
What the Sandy Ward has done.
I did not start school until I was 7 years old. As we had a mile to walk to school my parents thought it wise to wait until my brother could go. It would be company to go together. During the years I waited to begin school, mother taught me the Swedish alphabet and to spell and write some of the words of that language. I can still understand it but hard to talk it as I seldom ever hear it now. One gets rusty, as it is over 50 years since grandmother died and I have not used it since. I can still write letters to relatives in that language. I cannot remember much about school that first year 1883 only that mother took me there and I liked it. My brother was only a little over 5 years and did not like it at all.
I remember one incident connected with my first years. We were given a first reader and were asked to read it through lesson by lesson and page by page and when we were through we were given another one. I was honest and did as the teacher asked us to do. My brother would skip pages here and there and get through his book quicker. I had many a cry over that as I read every page father would try and console me by saying I would know what the book contained but he would lose out. Of course I was two years older I did pass him. My what little things seen big things when we are young.
All the grades were in one room and were taught by one teacher. She taught from the first to the 6th reader. Imagine a little one room school house plain rough board desks for two pupils at each desk, a black board, a round heating stove in the center of the room which would smoke so had at times that the stove pipes had to be taken down and cleaned by the larger boys, and the fire rekindled. Then we would crowd around it until we were warm, and the classes would resume. The pupils having their desks by the stove would almost roast while those in the back of the room would freeze but we lived through it. A tin bucket of water in one corner of the room with a tin dipper attached to it, supplied us with drinking water. Germs were not thought of.
A teacher’s desk in the front of the room with a swivel chair comprised the furniture in the room. I liked the swivel chair because it could spin around. We would take turns to sit in it, some one turning it around as fast as they could, when the teachers went home for lunch. What a comparison with our comfortable heated rooms and sanitary conditions of today. All our drinking water was taken from a well near by. My father was a staunch advocate for free public school education. The teacher pay to come from taxation. We now had to pay 75 cents per pupil per month tuition. Many of the citizens were opposed to free public school but it was finally carried out. The smelter railroads mills and mines were all located around Sandy precinct and would be taxable so as time went on Sandy had a fine school and to this day no finer schools or school buildings can be found. There is High, Junior and Grades Schools in the district today. Many changes were taking place. The new smelter was running full blast and work was plentiful.
I must describe one of my first teachers. She was a very pretty woman and was very well groomed. In those days all well dressed women wore bustles and ankle length dresses. She wore her hair piled up on her head with little curls for bangs. She was strict and had order in her room. We all liked her. When I think of the sage brush prairie seventy years ago and now in 1960 it seems unbelievable, that so much progress can be made in surroundings and grade schools stand on the ground that our little blue painted one room school house once stood on and where I attended school.
The population of Sandy grew and a new schoolhouse and also a Mormon chapel were built. More mercantile business and a new post office building were built. New homes for the smelter officials and for the superintendent were also erected at the smelter site. A well was dug there also for drinking purposes yet the old cisterns were still there and came in handy for many farmers who had to haul their culinary water in the wintertime, the smelter officials having given their permission. My father being one of them because water would freeze in his ditch and pond so he had to haul our water in barrels for household purposes. There was always water in the smelter cistern built for smelter use. It was piped to the cistern from Alsops pond.
Mother supplied the people who lived in the smelter houses with eggs, milk, cream, butter and chickens. She also sold her turkeys to them at Christmas time for Christmas presents to their employees. Mild was sold at 5 cents a quart, butter 25 cents a pound, eggs 10 or 15 cents a dozen. I cannot remember milk being sold at the store in early days. Mother sold all her milk to the officials at the smelter and we children ahead to bring it to them night or morning as they wished. Men’s wages were $1.50, $3.00 and $4.00 per day in early days.
Grandmother always attended Swedish meetings. This particular Sunday morning I was allowed to go with her. Mother had just made me a new red dress and bought me a white chiffon hat with a large red rose on it as trimming. I was a very happy girl. We had to pass by a large water hole filled with muddy water on our way. The path was narrow and very near the brink. Irrigation water had made the bank soft so when I stepped near, the bank caved in and I went along with it. I never hurt myself but oh how frightened I was. Grandma pulled me out and took me home. I sure was a sorry sight, all covered with mud. Grandmother had to go to her meeting without me. Mother took off my wet and muddy things and I put on clean clothing. She then washed and ironed my dress so it looked like new again but my beautiful hat was ruined, the pretty red rose faded upon the white so I could never wear it again. What freak accidents can happen when you least expect them.
Mother was a born nurse, many a time she would be called out to help when a new baby arrived, to wash and dress it and see that the mother was comfortable, then came home and fixed some delicacy or often made a broth and sent some to the mother. There were no maternity homes to go to so they had to have their babies at home, generally assisted by a midwife. Mother was often called when death entered a family. There were no morticians and no mortuaries so the body had to be taken care of in the home. There were no hearses so father would be asked to take the body to the church for services. He had a span of gray horses and a buggy long enough to carry a coffin or casket as the case may be. The coffin was often made by the town carpenter and lined with white cotton or silk. Mother made many a burial suit and other clothing to those in need. You could not get ready made cloth as we can now so it had to be made at home.
Sandy was growing and yardage goods could be purchased at some of the stores but when mother wanted something extra nice she went to Salt Lake for it. I remember the first silk dress I had. It was green in color with a lighter green stripe running through it. I made the dress myself and I was proud of it. Mother always purchased the best of material for our clothes.
MY CHILDHOOD HOME
Take a walk with me this day
Down to the lane of memory
Up to the old, old homestead
And visit a while with me.
I know there is no one at home
To say a glad “hello”
They have gone to a better land
And left this land of woe.
Amid the sand and sagebrush
About a mile from town
Stood this house my childhood home
Where snakes and lizards wore the crown.
This house by the railroad track
Was made of home made brick
And adobe lined all throughout
Which made the walls so thick.
Father, mother and dear grandma
And we children three
Lived in this house many years
Oh so happily.
The railroad tracks a few steps east
With rails gleaming in the sun
Where oft you’d hear they engine puff
Drawing cars on it like fun.
On its ties I oft did walk
In rainy days or winter’s snow
No paved street just a plain dirt road
Led to the town you know.
Many a change time has wrought
As I think of the days gone by
With the butterflies flitting by
As I point just where it was
I heave a long drawn sigh.
It really was a sweet oasis
Amid a desert parched and dry.
Over there was grandma’s flower garden
Which she tended with such care
Where lavender and fragrant stocks
Perfumed the evening air.
I can see her carry water
In buckets from the pond
Which made them grow and blossom
As she dealt the magic wand.
Out yonder was the orchard
Apples peaches plums and pear
Where father had to weed and irrigate
Which added to his care.
I see the gooseberry bushes
With many a prickly thorn
Many a scratch the picker got
Unless good gloves were worn.
Over there was the green pea patch
Where we picked our peas
For our mid-day dinner
Our hunger to appease.
Just over there the wheat field
With heads of golden grain
And the alfalfa patch close by
Its new mown hay, I smell again.
I see father in his rubber toots
With a shovel on his shoulder
Irrigating night or day
He does not seem much older.
I see the cool cool dripping bucket
As it rises from the well
With eager hands he grasps it
As he comes his thirst to quell.
Gazing round there is my swing
As it hung from the tallest tree
And the sea saw boards across the log
Where we played so happily.
Over there I see the pond of water clear
Underneath the tall trees shadow
It makes me yearn to once again
Hear the bullfrogs serenade.
I also see on Wednesnight
A group of girls and boys
Waiting to be baptized
Bringing many joys.
Baptized by my father
In our clear water pond
Baptized by immersion
Sure tis a sacred bond.
Then on Thursday morning
At ten o’clock remember
All were at the meeting house
To be confirmed a member.
I see the cattle coming home
Each one knows its stall
Many a time I’ve tied them up
I did not mind at all.
Now I’m nearly scared to death
If a cow just looks at me
I see their bent and crooked horns
So that’s enough for me.
I see a barn all filled with hay
And a tall haypole by its side
I see its rope and fork and tackle
And hay bundles upward glide.
I remember my fantail pigeons
The finest you would see
And the little spotted rabbits
That lived under the greenery.
I see the manger filled with hay
And the horses in their stall
Eating the new mown hay and grain
Their names John and Frank I do recall.
Oh yes Prince was our old black dog
On whom we did depend
He watched our house and cattle too
And was our petted friend.
I can see the indian tepee
Across the railroad track
The squaws would always beg for food
With a papoose strapped on their back.
I see a long long wooden bench
Beneath the locust tree
I think we’d better take a rest
Before the house we see.
The farmhouse door was always open
To friends and neighbors too
No knock, but just step in
I think that’s what we will do.
Now let us take a look within
And visit room by room
First is the porch with it lounging chair
Which now has seen it’s doom.
Then our first room is the parlor
And there is mother’s rocking chair
In it she rocked her babies
Singing a lullaby air.
See the scalloped lace curtains
All ironed with much care
Hung before each shinning window
With them no on could compare.
See the pictures on the wall
All are hung so evenly
Some are of religious men
And some are of the family.
See the little oaken table
A bible on it laid
And the family album
Grandly is displayed.
That’s the organ where I learned to play
I can see it plain as day
Standing by the north wall
With sheets of music all array.
See the heater with ornamental top
The sofa and the lounge chair
Bedecked with crocheted doilies
Starched and ironed with such care.
The carpet woven by dear grandma
Covered the floor just right
Its stripes of orange green and red
Made the room so bright.
A kerosene lamp with flowered shade
Softened the light so bright
And made it soft and cozy like
Every wintery night.
The cheerful blaze in the heater
Made it pleasant inside
When there raged a snowy blizzard
Through the country wide.
There is the room I shared with Gram
See my bureau and my grandma’s loom
See the tall wardrobe, we had no closet
And that’s the heater that warmed our room.
Yes that’s dad’s and mother’s room
With her priceless feather bed
And her bureau with a marble top
With nic-nacs on it spread.
Yes there is the little wooden step
Between the largest rooms
Where often mother took her nap
On the floor each summer afternoon
Now the dining room with it’s round table
A checkered cloth on it is spread
I see our family sitting around it
With father sitting at the head
The cupboard with Mother’s pretty dishes
Standing there just in it’s place
I see the mirror on the west wall
And the curtains trimmed and with case
There is the pantry filled with food
(We had no frigideirs)
Where mother made us her pies and cake
With which no one could compare
Now this is the kitchen
With linoleum on the floor
White washed walls and ceiling
And a creaking door
The kitchen range so nice and large
Where mother cooked our food
‘Twas not a gas nor electric range
But made for coal and wood
There is the little wooden bench
On which stood the water pail
And there is the brand new dipper
Hanging on a nail
See the clean white towel
On the edge a broad red stripe
Hangs on a roller on the door
Where we our hands did wipe
Down we’ll take a step or two
And find another room
With a table and another stove
Yes this is the utility room
On a shelf above the stove
We see milk pans shining bright
Shelves so neat and tidy
Was mother’s great delight
Our visit is now ended
And we’ll close sweet memory door
Some day again it may be opened
And we’ll visit there once more.
Indians were very common in those early days. They often placed their tepees across the tracks from our place. Our home was not so far from the smelter where they would sell their gloves to the employees as well as the farmers who lives around. Some of their gloves were beaded with colored beads on the gauntlets in many pretty designs. We children were allowed to go over and watch them at their tepee. They were glad to see us and did not resent us watching them.
I can see their tepee with it’s smoldering fire in the center and the squaw roasting some meat on a hook over the embers which they ate with a relish although it looked half raw. The greatest attraction to us were the little papooses all quilted and laced in their baskets. I can never remember hearing them cry. With their little round faced healthy looking babies with their straight black hair, strapped to their backs. The squaws would come begging for biscuits (bread) or flour and sugar while their men folks sold gloves. Liquor was forbidden to be sold to the Indians for it made them ready to cause trouble. (Liquor was called firewater yet at times they obtained it from some one.)
Father being in the bishopric was away from home often attending some meeting or some other thing connected with church activities. One particular evening when he was not at home, Mother and we children were startled by a band of Indians walking in without knocking, seating themselves at the table and one of them asked mother to furnish them with bottles. Some one had sold them whiskey. They argued among themselves and finally divided the liquor, each one getting a share. They decided to go without tasting it. Just at that moment my little kitten came into the room and the younger squaw wanted it. Of course mother gave it to her and she placed it under her blanket and they walked out. I started to cry and mother tried her best to cheer me by saying I could always get another kitten.
Mother did not dare say “no” because they decided to go before drinking any of the liquor. This incident has always been so vivid in my mind. When I grew older we often referred to it. I asked mother why she seemed so calm. She answered, “ I had a prayer in my heart during the time they were here that God would protect me from harm.” I also remember what Brigham Young had said “Feed the indians and do not anger them,” Mother had many experience with indians.
One day an indian came to her door asking her to fry some meat for him which he had in a package which she did. He came back year after year with the same request. He said he lived in Skull Valley. The last time he came was a very cold day and asked mother for something to tie around his ears. Mother gave him one of father’s large bandana handkerchiefs and he said “I’ll return it when I come next year.” But he never came again. He was quite old so he must have died. Mother always left some money to give to the indians if they came begging when we were alone. They like money better than biscuits. (We also had plenty of tramps begging for food. Father said, “Never deny anyone food always give them something to eat. No one shall go hungry from my door.” I know what it feels like to be hungry. My father was ill at times and out of work and our lard would get quite low and mother had to ration our food until she could get spinning or weaving to do. We children would get quite hungry but we lived through it and grew up to be sturdy boys. That is why I will not let any one go hungry from my door.)
In the winter we had many a tramp as the smaller always needed more so these tramps would work a day or two and then move on. Many of them who could afford it bought themselves blankets to keep themselves warm during the winter and sell them again when summer came to the farmers. Mother bought several from them. She would wash them in strong suds and disinfect them, dry them & then iron them thoroughly to kill the germs if there were any. She was really ahead of the times in sanitation, health, & disease.
An old man, a real hobo, was a regular visitor. He would always ask for buttermilk to drink. “We children called him the buttermilk man.” Mother always gave him some if she had any and a sack of food for which he was very thankful. He was stoopshouldered, had a shaggy beard and stringy hair, was always ragged and dirty. He generally made three or four calls a year. We never found out where his home was or if he had one. One year he missed coming and being old and gray he may have died.
October Conference time the weather was often rainy or even snowy and cold. People from San Pete and Utah Counties would travel in their heavy covered wagons and would often get stuck in the muddy “State Road” (now called State Street) when coming to conference. Father ran along the road so when some one was in trouble, he would harness his own team and help these out of the rut. Seeing State Street now no one can imagine how it looked in early days before it was paved.
My parents had many friends in those communities in Manti, Fairview, Mt Pleasant, Provo, & Pleasant Grove and others. When coming to conference they would make our home their stopping place to feel their horses and mother & father would give them food and lodging. We children would be so excited seeing beds made for us on the floor so the visitors could have our beds for their comfort. It was a great treat to go to conference with father and mother at Salt Lake City. It was a two hour drive with horse and buggy to the city. In the early days the tithing yard was a place to put up our horses while attending conference. Of course, there were living stables also, but father would bring hay and grain and feed them tying them in stable or to his buggy if the stables were filled. There was also a caretaker for those who wanted to pay for his service to care for them.
It was a treat to eat at a restaurant or lunch counter if there was room. The bakery across the street close by was very busy catering to conference visitors. Even some bakery cakes from the bakery and a piece of cheese or balogne tasted good eating it sitting on the lawn if the eating places were filled and the weather was ideal.
The tithing yard and tithing office were just east of the temple block where the Hotel Utah now stands being enclosed by a stone wall. At the tithing office the farmers would pay their tithes in produce of all kind, hay, cattle, butter, eggs, etc. Many a time my parents have taken their tithing in produce to this place. Now tithing is paid in cash at the Bishops Office in the ward chapel in the ware you live. Salt Lake stake comprised of all of Salt Lake City and all of Salt Lake Co presided by Angrus Cannon.
Every other Sunday missionaries would be sent from headquarters to our ward as speakers. They would come on the morning train in time for Sunday School. Father being the only one who had horses and buggy in the Bishopric generally met them, took them to Sunday school, which began at 10 AM. Then take them home to dinner and then back at 2 PM. Our meetings were held in the afternoon. Mother never complained. She was always willing to serve them. Father was very strict in having us children go to Sunday School and Sacrament meeting. We had no electric lights in the county so kerosene lamps were used in our meeting house. In our home we also had kerosene or coal oil lamps.
Many a gallon of coaloil I have carried home from the store. We children always heard the warning, “Be careful of the lamp. Do not touch it.” We were told how easily a fire would be started if a lamp filled with coaloil happened to be tipped over. Just imagine the work to keep the lamp chimneys or globes clean and shining. Every morning at our house mother would clean hers so they would be ready when needed at night. I don’t remember the coaloil lamps in the tabnernacle, but I remember the gas jets and how the would light them. The first electric lights I saw were at the Mingo Smelter. I am not sure if they generated the electricity there or got it from elsewhere. Years later The Utah Power and Light Co brought it along State Street and also brought the street car to our town.
The Great tabnernacle was a great wonder to me. Seats were plentiful in my young days. There was no crowding no loud speaker system as we have now so if a speaker did not have a loud voice it was hard to hear him on the backseats. What an improvement has been wrought so we can hear what is being said in all parts of the house.
It seems to me father never wasted any time in idleness. When he was home of an evening which was seldom he would always have his bible handy or some other church book to read. He would tell us stories of the bible. Joseph sold into Egypt was one of my favorites. His coat of many colors fascinated me. (When I see the men and boys wearing these loud colored sport shirts I think of Joseph’s coast of many colors). He also told us the story of the creation and Adam and Eve and Moses and teachings of Jesus and his crucifixion were interesting to hear. I being the oldest would ask to many questions so when his patience was almost gone he would say “Time for bed” and we had to obey. Mother was more lenient. We could often coax her to say yes often she had said a decided “no” but fathers word was final.
Father was a great student of the bible. He and his brother Elias would have some debate whenever they were together. One day father brought home a nice clock similar to the one on this page. It was a treat to us as we had to depend on the whistle and our little alarm clock. Now we had a nice clock which seemed to run correctly. I remember father would have to wind it every weekend.
Our Clock
This is the old old clock
On a shelf on the wall
Always ticking out the minutes
And each hour, “hear it call”
It told the exact time
To get ready for our school
And seemed to say hurry,
There is no time to fool
Tick tock listen to it
As it ticks the time away
It never seems to tire
Of telling the time of day
In eighteen hundred seventy six
The year that I was born
It gave my parents the exact time
On that August morn
Father would wind it carefully
Every coming week end
And by ticking out the moments
Great services it did rend
Radio and television were unknown to me
We had to depend upon the clock
Which never made a fuss
Of course we’d hear the whistle
From the boiler room
At the nearby Mingo Smelter
Especially at noon
Now we need not bother
To hear the old old clock
There’s the electric clock and radio
So unnoticed goes the tick tock.
-Elizabeth.
The poem was written by me January 1953.
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