Constance Day Robbins was a grand Dame. At the age of three, with golden locks and big blue eyes, she, along with her brother and her mother, left England. Her father had passed away and the Mormon Church provided the way, and the means, and the promises for a better life. Her mother, with very few options, chose to leave behind her family and a country. Sailing across the ocean probably seemed effortless when faced with what was to come. From the lines of people at Ellis Island where their names were registered like so many thousands of others, to the journey across a country several times the size of England, the trepidation and fear must have been nearly unbearable. The desination; an unfamiliar place called Utah. Where there were no rolling hills of green flowing pasteurs, no trees covering the landscape, and no flowers growing in pots in the yards with the protection of rod iron fences. Once there, they began a life of hard work on farm land where the only chance of survival was by the will and the grace of God. Constance married at the age of 16, and barely more than a child herself, she started her own family. She was a proud woman standing a little over 5 feet 2 inches. But she was all lady, unless she had to stand up taller and be stronger to survive.
The last time I saw my grandmother, we drove through a blizzard in January to be by her bedside. I whispered in her ear, not knowing if she could hear me, telling her that I was here, and that I loved her. I told her that Lou was here as well, and that we were going to say a prayer with her. I took her feeble hand and gently squeezed it. I didn't know this frail lifeless person lying in front of me. There was a slight stirring from her and I acknowledged it to be a sign of recognition. I bent over and kissed her forehead, and as Lou began 'The Lord's Prayer", she took in her last breath and then let it out. My grandma was gone.
Being the oldest granddaughter, I was proud to give the eulogy at her funeral. It was hard to explain how special this beautiful lady was to me. She loved unconditionally, with big arms open when we arrived to visit and tears when we left. I could play dress up with her clothes and shoes and jewelry. Nothing was untouchable. She always baked my favorite hot rolls that are still second to none, and remembered to have Alphabits ready for my breakfast. We sat in the kitchen at her booth-style table for hours talking over coffee -- her plasma as she would call it -- and indulging in her homemade pastries. Every now and then she would have to speak "Pig Latin" to protect my young ears. She always made me feel so grown up and so special. Every birthday and every Christmas, with unceasing dependability, she sent presents. But it wasn't just that she sent the present that made you feel special, it was how it was wrapped; with beautiful paper and matching satin bows, tied to perfection, in that way that most people can't even begin to tie. She loved her two-story stucco house with pine trees surrounding, and the birds that sang to her from her open windows. And she loved the sunlight that came in through the big mullion-paned windows creating shadows of patterns on the floor that she used as a sundial to tell the time of day, or the time of year. She loved her china which now decorates my Christmas tables. She would decorate for every holiday. And she would sing every day in spite of what the day had in store. She never spoke much about England, but her sense of style and her uncharacteristic collections of books, silver, fine linens and china, silently told you that her roots were deeper than that small town in Utah. She truly was a grand dame.
Today, I came to Kings Heath, UK. The small town where my grandmother was born almost 100 years ago. Visiting the local cemetery, I was hoping to find a name that might connect her to this place, but gave up after a dedicated search proved fruitless. In the center of town there was a beautiful Church of England, ironically named All Saints Church. (The same as in Kokkino). It was celebrating 150 years of services. Logically, this could be the church where my great-grandmother was married, and where my grandmother was baptized. The church-yard could hold the remains of my great grandfather. I was a little disappointed that I couldn't really make any tangible connections. Then, as we were leaving town, it dawned on me. I was the connection. Because of a decision made by a young helpless widow, with two small children and very few options; I am.
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London was a great experience. It is a beautiful city with a lot of history. The Queen's presence is very prominent. Displayed throughout the city are statues of war heroes and various famous people who have made their mark in history. The Brits are a very proud sort. We enjoyed walking the streets with the repeated pattern of Victorian townhouses neatly built and painted in Queen's White, which makes the colorful flowers that bloom in abundance stand out even more. Hyde Park was a treat, however I was disappointed in the "fountain" dedicated to Princess Diana. It is really a large ribbon of granite with different surface patterns that carry a small stream of water from top to bottom claiming to depict the patterns of her life. The people speak perfect English and for the first time in 6 weeks we didn't have to use body language to explain ourselves. The weather has totally cooperated with a cool breeze, only a few sprinkles, intermittent cloudiness, and 70 degree temperatures. Perfect weather for walking and walking and walking.... We took one of those traditional tour buses. You know the kind with the open seating above, where you can look up and see people laughing and joking with the man on the microphone. It turned out to be better than we expected, learning inside notes on many of the historical sights. Westminster Abbey and Big Ben were every bit as impressive as the song. And Buckingham Palace and the Parliament building definitely have the air of royalty about them. We treated ourselves to fish and chips at a local pub. And then, after a six week withdrawal from our usual movie addiction, we decided to go to a movie. Thoroughly enjoying the experiences of the day, we felt closer to America than we have in weeks. On Saturday, we left London. We picked up a rental car for the last leg of our journey. As we began driving away, I again covered my eyes and cringed as FL took the wheel, which is now on the right-hand side of the car, and we drove off on the left-hand side of the street. This experience deserves its own blog. Until then -- Cheerio!!
The last time I saw my grandmother, we drove through a blizzard in January to be by her bedside. I whispered in her ear, not knowing if she could hear me, telling her that I was here, and that I loved her. I told her that Lou was here as well, and that we were going to say a prayer with her. I took her feeble hand and gently squeezed it. I didn't know this frail lifeless person lying in front of me. There was a slight stirring from her and I acknowledged it to be a sign of recognition. I bent over and kissed her forehead, and as Lou began 'The Lord's Prayer", she took in her last breath and then let it out. My grandma was gone.
Being the oldest granddaughter, I was proud to give the eulogy at her funeral. It was hard to explain how special this beautiful lady was to me. She loved unconditionally, with big arms open when we arrived to visit and tears when we left. I could play dress up with her clothes and shoes and jewelry. Nothing was untouchable. She always baked my favorite hot rolls that are still second to none, and remembered to have Alphabits ready for my breakfast. We sat in the kitchen at her booth-style table for hours talking over coffee -- her plasma as she would call it -- and indulging in her homemade pastries. Every now and then she would have to speak "Pig Latin" to protect my young ears. She always made me feel so grown up and so special. Every birthday and every Christmas, with unceasing dependability, she sent presents. But it wasn't just that she sent the present that made you feel special, it was how it was wrapped; with beautiful paper and matching satin bows, tied to perfection, in that way that most people can't even begin to tie. She loved her two-story stucco house with pine trees surrounding, and the birds that sang to her from her open windows. And she loved the sunlight that came in through the big mullion-paned windows creating shadows of patterns on the floor that she used as a sundial to tell the time of day, or the time of year. She loved her china which now decorates my Christmas tables. She would decorate for every holiday. And she would sing every day in spite of what the day had in store. She never spoke much about England, but her sense of style and her uncharacteristic collections of books, silver, fine linens and china, silently told you that her roots were deeper than that small town in Utah. She truly was a grand dame.
Today, I came to Kings Heath, UK. The small town where my grandmother was born almost 100 years ago. Visiting the local cemetery, I was hoping to find a name that might connect her to this place, but gave up after a dedicated search proved fruitless. In the center of town there was a beautiful Church of England, ironically named All Saints Church. (The same as in Kokkino). It was celebrating 150 years of services. Logically, this could be the church where my great-grandmother was married, and where my grandmother was baptized. The church-yard could hold the remains of my great grandfather. I was a little disappointed that I couldn't really make any tangible connections. Then, as we were leaving town, it dawned on me. I was the connection. Because of a decision made by a young helpless widow, with two small children and very few options; I am.
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London was a great experience. It is a beautiful city with a lot of history. The Queen's presence is very prominent. Displayed throughout the city are statues of war heroes and various famous people who have made their mark in history. The Brits are a very proud sort. We enjoyed walking the streets with the repeated pattern of Victorian townhouses neatly built and painted in Queen's White, which makes the colorful flowers that bloom in abundance stand out even more. Hyde Park was a treat, however I was disappointed in the "fountain" dedicated to Princess Diana. It is really a large ribbon of granite with different surface patterns that carry a small stream of water from top to bottom claiming to depict the patterns of her life. The people speak perfect English and for the first time in 6 weeks we didn't have to use body language to explain ourselves. The weather has totally cooperated with a cool breeze, only a few sprinkles, intermittent cloudiness, and 70 degree temperatures. Perfect weather for walking and walking and walking.... We took one of those traditional tour buses. You know the kind with the open seating above, where you can look up and see people laughing and joking with the man on the microphone. It turned out to be better than we expected, learning inside notes on many of the historical sights. Westminster Abbey and Big Ben were every bit as impressive as the song. And Buckingham Palace and the Parliament building definitely have the air of royalty about them. We treated ourselves to fish and chips at a local pub. And then, after a six week withdrawal from our usual movie addiction, we decided to go to a movie. Thoroughly enjoying the experiences of the day, we felt closer to America than we have in weeks. On Saturday, we left London. We picked up a rental car for the last leg of our journey. As we began driving away, I again covered my eyes and cringed as FL took the wheel, which is now on the right-hand side of the car, and we drove off on the left-hand side of the street. This experience deserves its own blog. Until then -- Cheerio!!
Marsha - your memories of your grandmother spoke to me and I thought of my grandmother "DAY" except my Grandmother lived in Wyoming. The fresh cinnamon rolls, the warm hugs and gentleness (don't remember pig latin) but they are all "Days". Your grandchildren will remember you in similar ways (I'm sure)I am so happy for you all and mss you terribly. Safe return......
ReplyDeleteJust spent the last couple of hours cathing up with your blog. I laughed and cried, and burnt the dinner. But it was well worth it, maybe my family won't notice -- compared to how bad my cooking is anyway -- maybe it's an improvement. I so enjoyed it and miss you all. Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!!!
ReplyDeleteKathy, A girl after my own heart -- being distracted while dinner is cooking and burning it!
ReplyDeleteHello Marsha,
ReplyDeleteI think I felt a little bit the same way that you did when I couldn't find my grandparents graves in Greece. I saw the picture of FL's yiayia's grave and I felt sad that I didn't have a similar one of my yiayia Eleni. In the little cemetary in their home town, they recycle the grave plots, so every three years they are dug up and the space is reused. I didn't realize before how that severs our roots, it cuts off history, doesn't it ? It seems like there is something important about finding and visiting a gravesite. I am so sorry you couldn't find any signs of your family in King's Heath. ( I turned off the stove before I came to sit down and read my favourite blog!!).
Helen