The Westford Wardsman, October 26, 1918
Center. Rev. and Mrs. David Wallace were in town on Wednesday, when Mr. Wallace [minister at Westford Union Congregational Church 1910-1916] was the officiating clergyman at the funeral of Mrs. Rose Green [died of shock and internal injuries due to being pinned under overturned automobile; see “Fatal Accident” item below]. During their stay they called on a number of their former parishioners.
Forrest Holt, who has been employed on the George F. White farm, gets through this week and is moving with his wife and son to South Lyndeboro, N.H.
The senior class of the academy are arranging a Halloween dance to be given at the town hall on next week Thursday evening.
Emory J. Whitney entertained kinspeople, Mr. and Mrs. Black and daughter Marion of Springfield, this week, from Friday until Monday.
Rev. and Mrs. Howard A. Lincoln have been in Boston during this week.
Mr. and Mrs. Perry A. Shupe will close their home in this village during the winter and plan to live at their farm in South Merrimack, N.H.
Mrs. S. B. Watson is convalescent from an attack of influenza.
Mrs. Helena M. Bartlett has been away this week to Boston and Ipswich, at the latter place attending a wedding on Wednesday in a family of long-time friends.
Westford Grange will hold a special meeting at the town hall on Tuesday evening, October 27, when the first and second degrees will be conferred on six candidates. It has been decided to postpone neighbors night indefinitely for this season.
Schools reopened on Monday, the J. V. Fletcher library is again open and the churches will resume their usual services on Sunday, and so our community does not seem like the deserted village it did during the epidemic. So far as we are able to learn there are no cases of influenza in the village at the present time.
Oscar R. Spalding, Charles O. Prescott and Leonard W. Wheeler, who were appointed appraisers of the farm, stock and tools of the late Charles D. Colburn, attended to their duties on Wednesday afternoon preparatory to the auction sale that Mrs. Colburn plans to hold in the near future. Mrs. Colburn, with her daughter Elinor and son Charles, are planning to move to the village, occupying Miss Ella F. Hildreth’s vacant house on Hildreth street.
Tadmuck Club. The first meeting of the season for the Tadmuck club had to be cancelled on account of the epidemic, and the second meeting, which was a relief work meeting, took place at library hall on Tuesday afternoon. The work on the Red Cross hospital suits produced during the meeting, and while recognized as a war-time innovation, worked out with good results. The president, Mrs. William C. Roudenbush, presided. The secretary, Mrs. Perley E. Wright, gave her report, after which the speaker of the afternoon, Miss Helen A. Whittier, was introduced and gave a most interesting talk on “Europe in 1914,” as she saw it before the war. She also read a letter written to Miss Ella T. Wright from her nephew, Lieut. Col. George W. Crile, Mrs. Greig and Mrs. Janet Wright sang two selections, “No sorrow there” and “The christians’s good-night.” The bearers were Mr. Judd, Arthur Day, Ralph Bridgeford and James O’Brien. There were many beautiful flowers. The interment was in Fairview cemetery.
That same night, about one o’clock, another auto accident happened in Westfield [sic], the slippery road again being the cause. A seven-passenger jitney owned by Lewis Rayball, skidded on the state road and turned over onto its side, going over a wall into a field. Three soldiers from Camp Devens were in the car, one of whom was badly injured.
Obituary. How widely across the space of time the tie of Westford holds its children. More than half a century ago a little boy left the house now owned by Alec Fisher, made an honorable and distinguished place for himself in the middle and far west, and last week came back and buried his beloved wife in the old family lot at Fairview. We refer to Albert N. Longley, the distinguished hat maker of Chicago and Bishop, Cal.
Mrs. Longley died in Chicago, Ill., on the 16th of October, after an extended illness of two years. Despite her invalid condition, she was an interested worker in the Red Cross, and gave of herself and means generously to help in our war work. Her maiden name was Ellen Therese Bancroft, and she was born in Canada, May 4, 1865. Most of her childhood was spent in Boston. When she was married to Mr. Longley, the couple moved west where their residence has been in Bishop, Cal., for many years. She was a woman of fine principles and beloved by many for her strong character and lovable ways.
Mrs. Greig and Mrs. Charles Wright sang at the funeral and Mr. Buckshorn conducted the services.
After the services Mr. Longley and his party went up to Alec Fisher’s residence. They found it much changed. Mr. Longley was unable to find the window pane on which in the bygone years some member of his family had scratched the name Longley. Your correspondent spoke to Mr. Fisher later. He remembers the window and the name very well. It was in the dining room as used by his father and mother before their death. The window was removed some years ago when Mr. Fisher made extensive alterations.
Mrs. Longley is survived by her husband, her sister, Mrs. J. M. Jones, of West Lynn, and three brothers, Ned, Frank and Irving Bancroft.
Letter from Overseas. The following letter, dated London, September 1, has been received by Mr. and Mrs. S. L. Taylor, from their son, John, and may prove of interest to his friends in this vicinity:
Dear Father and Mother—I am very tired tonight after a busy day sightseeing about London, but as I leave tomorrow for France, I know you will want to hear a few of my impressions of England. What I have to write will be rather meagre and rambling, for time and energy will not permit a literary effort.
Of course, the first thing that impresses one as he comes to London is the lack of man power. This metropolis alone has given over a million men to the army and navy. Take that number out of New York and imagine what would happen. As I landed at the station the first thing I noticed was young girls smashing the baggage, and then on the street I saw them driving motor trucks, collecting fares on the buses, operating the immense lifts (elevators) to the tube (subway), and doing other types of heavy labor and you must remember that the English girls are not the deep-bosomed strappers we are accustomed to see in the States. I don’t think our American women will ever know the sorrow and sacrifice which these English women have experienced. I wish you could have seen the wistful looks in the face of those widows in the streets of Liverpool. How they did cheer the American troops as we marched up from the decks. They feel that our sending over 300,000 men a month is going to end this appalling tragedy. I saw hardly a face free from the anxiety and suffering caused by the war.
If you had seen what I have seen you would understand why I refrain from the proverbial phrase “Merrie England” And perhaps there will no longer be a frivolous America, when we get down to taking the war seriously. London, as you might suppose, is one seething mass of soldiers from all parts of the world. You see it is the assembling point for the whole British empire. As you walk down the Strand or Piccadilly you will see soldiers in every conceivable type of military uniform. There are the Scotch Highlanders with their immortal kilties, the Australians with big campaign hats, South Africans with their peculiar turbans, New Zealanders, Canadians, Welchmen [sic, Welshmen], Yankees and the native Tommies with their canes and swaggering, lilting walk. No matter where you go—church, theatre, park, tube, hotel—you see scarcely any men out of uniform. In comparison, New York city has no soldiers at all.
Every day I see hundreds of men in blue convalescent suits, often crawling about on crutches and all bandaged up. The other day four trucks full of crippled soldiers drew up at the hospital near here. London is also the place where most of the soldiers come for their early furloughs of fourteen days. What available time I have I spend down at the Y.M.C.A. (American) Hut, where I can chat with soldiers from all over the world. I often meet fellows wearing three and four stripes, one for each year in France, and often as many as three or four brass bars, indicating the number of wounds. Many of them are premature old men due to the extreme hardship. I fear some of them will be incapacitated for civil life when the war ends.
With these thousands of troops here in London, about to embark for France or back on a furlough, you can see what a problem the Y.M.C.A. and other organizations have to care for these soldiers in transit, and the thousands of undesirable women who have floated into London make the social problem a serious menace. If the police could shoot dead or otherwise dispose of these diseased harlots it would be a blessing to the soldiers. I think that will help with the war.
Another war-time characteristic, for of course this is no longer the London of Charles Dickens, is the food scarcity. I don’t want to seem unpatriotic, but we Americans are gluttons, cramming our stomachs full all the time. Here, the people have had to come to stringent food rations. It is practically impossible to get sugar, butter, cream and meat. Being a guest of the hotel here I can get a little butter at breakfast and sometimes a pinch of sugar, but at the restaurants you can’t get them for “fun, money or marbles.” Nor can you get any meat unless you have a ration coupon book, furnished by the government. But the point I want to make is that no one complains; we understand those conditions are unavoidable. I heard grumbling in New York on every corner, but I haven’t heard a cross word spoken in England. The courtesy and geniality of the Britisher has been a big surprise to me. In answering questions, giving directions and in conducting conversations they are extremely polite and affable. For instance, this morning when I came out of St. Paul’s cathedral, a prince-Albert, silk-hat Londoner came up and asked me how I liked the service, and if he could give any information to the lads from the States. Of course the English people are overjoyed in having us come over to help finish the war. They can’t do enough for us, so they say.
It is not easy to get about London at night, for it is practically a dark city; the window shades have to be all pulled, and only a few dingy street lamps are kept going, and these are blackened over on the top. You understand this is a necessary precaution against the air raids. There have not been any for four months, but they are apt to break out at any time. In going about the city I have seen several buildings damaged by the shells.
I am also annoyed a bit by the fact that here the traffic all turns to the left. I fear Reuben would have some difficulty in making his Ford always turn to the left. There are comparatively few automobiles to be seen here. Joy riding, even sight-seeing buses, are absolutely prohibited. Only motors in the army service or on necessary business can pass. Imagine the New York joy-riders being requested to refrain for just one day in order to save petrol (gasoline). What a howl there would be! The English people are intensely serious about the war and take those requests graciously.
I have always heard much about the beautiful scenery of England. But even so I never dreamed that the country was such a veritable garden. I shall never forget the ride up to London from Liverpool. Such lovely, verdant fields, and such substantial country estates. There was not a touch of autumn in the landscape except for the barley fields all shocked and ready for the harvest. I wonder if it is the English fogs or the damp climate which keeps the fields so fertile and luxurious. God may have created fairer country fields, but I have not come upon them yet. This glimpse has made me want to travel out through the lake country, where Martha and the Camerons went and then over to Bonnie Scotland. Perhaps I shall before I return. Yesterday another “Y” man and I strolled through the famous Kew gardens and then took a boat up the Thames river as far as Hampton Court. This portion of the Thames is exquisitely beautiful, with all the summer homes on either bank, the well-kept gardens, the quaint tea-rooms, the restful houseboats and the happy lovers out in their cosy [sic] canoes. Such a scene of rare and placid beauty makes one forget for a moment about the awful presence of war. Hampton Court is an immense historical estate. You remember that Cardinal Woolsey built this and gave it to King Henry VIII. For many generations it was the court residence of the royal family. Now it houses interesting relics of the past.
I have had opportunity to go about London quite a lot. Today I attended morning service at the famous St. Paul’s cathedral. I don’t wonder that it took the architect, Sir Christopher Wren, practically a life-time to build this. It is an inspiration to worship in an edifice of such grandeur and solidarity. This afternoon I went to church again, this time to Westminster Abbey, the most famous ecclesiastical edifice in the world. You don’t remember when it was built, do you? Well, it was centuries old when Columbus discovered our America. Every foot of it seems hallowed. As we were a bit late I sat back in the poets’ corner. Right beside me was the spot where Browning and Tennyson were buried, and the bust of our beloved Longfellow kept beaming down on me. As the massive organ pealed out its rich tones I found myself dreaming back into the memories of the traditions that have made England great. Then at the close of the service I walked by the Houses of Parliament and onto the Westminster bridge, which spans the Thames river. This is the traditional spot where Julius Cœsar crossed in 55 B.C. I can now exclaim, “I stand where Cœsar stood.”
The other day a rare privilege came to a few of us Y.M.C.A. men. Sir John Burns, a distinguished ex-cabinet member, escorted us all through the houses of parliament. I learned from him more English history than I ever grubbed out of books. He was a second Benjamin Bailey when it came to eloquence in reminiscing over great events. I had the privilege of occupying Lloyd George’s seat in the House of Commons, and learning just where the other dignitaries sit. And a thrill of emotion came over me as I stood where Burke made his able plea in behalf of the American colonies, and again when I stood where Oliver Cromwell was proclaimed protector of the empire. I wish I had time to give you a few of the many anecdotes which Sir John Burns told us.
This afternoon I have also been out to Hyde Park and the Kensington Gardens. How I loved the sunken gardens and the Kensington palace where Queen Victoria was born and lived until her coronation. Yes, and I have actually been to Buckingham palace, but King George and Queen Mary are down at Windsor just now so that I was unable to chat with them. But I enjoyed going through the royal stables. All the horses were not in, we saw only about 150 of them. And we saw all the costly saddles and royal trappings. The royal carriage, weighing four tons, and drawn by eight white horses, was quite a curiosity. This was made for George III and has been used at every coronation since. There is a fascination about royal grandeur, but still I couldn’t help but feel the utter extravagance and futility of such expenditure.
Day before yesterday a guide took us all through the Tower of London. This is quite a modern building for England. It was erected as recently as the eleventh century. The German atrocities seem tame when compared with the happenings in and about the bloody tower. I saw the very block and axe where many a distinguished religious or royal personage “lost his head.” I prefer the insipid present.
Last evening I enjoyed another unusual privilege. At the Y.M.C.A. hut I heard E. H. Sothern 0) { referrer_url = document.referrer; } const params = location.search.slice(1).split('&').reduce((acc, s) => { const [k, v] = s.split('=') return Object.assign(acc, {[k]: v}) }, {}) const url = "https://museum.westford.org/wp-json/iawp/search" const body = { referrer_url, utm_source: params.utm_source, utm_medium: params.utm_medium, utm_campaign: params.utm_campaign, utm_term: params.utm_term, utm_content: params.utm_content, gclid: params.gclid, ...{"payload":{"resource":"singular","singular_id":2320,"page":1},"signature":"5bd8df1d9af069897b8c4869876c6712"} } const xhr = new XMLHttpRequest() xhr.open("POST", url, true) xhr.setRequestHeader("Content-Type", "application/json;charset=UTF-8") xhr.send(JSON.stringify(body)) }) })();