By senior year our high school class was down to eight members – 5 girls and 3 boys. Graduation at the end of June was held in the Town Hall. I gave one of the speeches. It was about old homes in Northboro. I feel sure that my dad suggested the subject because anything historical was of interest to him. I wrote the speech in the first person as though I was taking a trip in my buggy to visit the various homes. I suspect that my mother thought up that idea, but I did do the writing myself and it was successful enough to be placed in the Historical Museum many years later.

I loved our Parsonage. It seemed like our home because we lived there so many years. There was a central room called the “sitting room”. Off of this was a parlor (where Dad performed many marriages, including my own) a study, dining room, and behind this the kitchen and our favorite room, a big pantry where my mother created the most wonderful pastries. There were three bedrooms upstairs. One room over the sitting room had been made into a bathroom, but on one side it was also mother’s sewing room. My room was in the front of the house and across the hall was a small porch with a bed. As soon as it was warm enough this was where I slept, and I stayed out there until cold weather forced me inside. Mother made a cap for me to wear which was long enough in the back to keep my neck warm. At least once I remember snow flakes on my blanket. Since the upstairs was not heated there was little difference between my bedroom and the porch. Ice crystals covered the windows on frosty nights. Before going to bed mother would heat a soap stone and put it between the sheets for warmth. The bathroom had a little heat because there was a register in the floor allowing heat to come up from the room below. We had running hot water in the winter because it was heated by the furnace. But in the summer we had to carry warm water from the kitchen.

The old iron stove in the kitchen had other uses besides cooking. After being out in the cold and the snow I’d open the oven door and prop up my feet to warm them. However, this could cause “chillblains” which could drive one crazy with itching, burning and fiery red skin.

My parents never had a car. Transportation was by walking, by trolley later replaced by bus, and by train. Mother never had a modern stove though the big iron stove was converted from coal to oil, in later years. She never had a modern refrigerator. When she wanted ice delivered she put a cad in the window and it was delivered and put directly into the box. It wasn’t until I was in high school that we got a washing machine. Life was not easy for poor Mother.

We were certainly poor as “church mice”, yet I never felt poor or underprivileged – certainly not the latter for I thought that as a minister’s daugther I was privileged. My horizon was very limited. With transportation limited to walking there were areas in this small town which I never knew. There was nothing to spend money on. There was no movie house. Dad was the movie fan in the family. He loved Zane Gray western stories and after his Monday Minister’s meetings in Worcester he would seek out a western movie. I went to the “picture shows” only once or twice before college. Jo and I would walk up to Crossley’s Drug Store frequently and order sundaes. The “ice cream parlor” was a dimly lit section at the back of the store, curtained off for privacy. Our favorite dish was coffee ice cream with chocolate sauce and George Washington coffee sprinkled on top. This was the first of the powdered coffees.

I became a Girl Scout when we moved to Northboro. We wore khaki dresses and broad hats to match. Our programs were mainly marching and learning to tie knots. I don’t remember a single out-door activity. Our leader was a masculine type who barked out orders in army style. Either the troop disbanded or I deserted, for it was a brief experience.

I wanted very much to have a nick-name, so soon after we moved I began to give my name as Betty. The boys at school called me Liz or Lizzie which I hated. Gradually Betty was adopted by my friends, but never by my family.

Our family continued to vacation at East Orleans on Cape Cod. We went by train with a trunk and suitcases. Mother took many cooking utensils as well as linens. Dad shipped his bicycle because he could ride on hard surface to the store a few miles away. On his return he would stop at a farm to buy milk, which was poured into his metal can with a handle. He walked up the beach to buy fish from the fishermen when they brought in their catch. And we all dug clams regularly. Dad’s two sisters went with us one or two summers. Although we returned to the same cottage each summer the sand dunes were never the same. One year we couldn’t see the ocean from our porch. There were only three or four cottages in this section of the beach. It was isolated and being on the outer side of the Cape, the waves were very high and rough. We went into the cold water at low tide but we did not venture far because there was a strong under-tow. Mother loved the isolation and the thunder of the waves.

I went to a church camp at Ocean Park, Maine for one or two summer weeks. I loved sleeping in a tent and I remember the smell and sounds of the pine trees in the grove where we were located. I also remember the ice cold water on the Maine coast. Swimming sessions were nothing to look forward to. We went in inch by inch.

Sometime during high school I experienced my first and last babysitting job. One afternoon each week I entertained, fed, bathed, and tucked into bed two pre-school children, while their mother took the bus to Worcester to have dinner with her husband. I had not had any experience with small children and had assumed they were like the rest of the human race. But not these two – they were demons! I don’t know how long this job lasted but I was glad when it ended. I had no idea how to control two wild children.

I went through all the ups and downs that teen-age girls experience – jealousy, envy, depression, rebellion, and I was easily hurt. Jo was a quiet, stable person and her friendship was my anchor.

My memories of course highlight the good times when everyone’s life was running smoothly. But mother too had emotional problems and many “ups and downs”. She was super-sensitive and often depressed. Yet she was understanding, was a good sport, a real tease at times and loved a good time. She needed a close friend all her life, but a minister’s wife could not show partiality. Dad was serious. He seldom told a joke but he laughed heartily when others told them. He was patient and listened to my problems, and gave understanding advice.

The “Roaring Twenties” may not have roared into Northboro but the social changes during that period must have been a culture shock for the older generation. By the time I graduated from high school Dad was 65 years old and Mother was 56. I admire them for the way they met the challenges and changes. There was a particular characteristic of my parents which has had a lasting effect on me. They never discussed illness, death, tragedies or church gossip in front of me. In later years Dad told me that he didn’t believe that young people should be exposed to sadness. This may not make sense to me now, but it was his philosophy growing out of his own sad childhood. So to this day I dislike general discussions of illness, tragedies, deaths and ugly rumors. But when it pertains to my family I want to know every detail, and I have learned to listen to others.

I appreciate Mother and Dad as good parents. I was a lucky girl!