# Memories of Grandpa and Grandma Stolworthy

## Thomas & Matilda Jenkerson Stolworthy

### by Lucy Stolworthy Burnham

The memory of Grandpa and Grandma Stolworthy are the most vivid of all my life,
and especially of my childhood memories and of our life in Huntington, Utah.
From the time I was a very small girl I was in and out of their home as much as
I was my own parent's home. I can see with my eyes shut their little red brick
house of three rooms and a front porch. It was a pleasant home, always neat and
clean, and the cheerful sound of farm activity with chickens, pigs, cows and
horses all making it a real farm home. The two-room log house that I can first
remember later became associated in my mind as the granary, for after it was
replaced by the red brick house, it was used as a store room. I remember that
Grandpa was very neat about his out-door premises. Fruit was scarce in
Huntington and Grandfather always stored away a barrel of apples that found a
place on Christmas. They were distributed around among all the grandchildren,
and how we did enjoy them.

Grandmother's life was almost as uncertain as a doctor's, for she never knew
when she would get a call as a mid-wife. Let a team drive up and stop at her
gate and she would run for her shawl and satchel. That satchel always intrigued
me, and I longed to look inside of it, but never dared. I was told that she
always kept a baby in it and I was prone to believe it because she seldom made
a visit to the sick but a baby was left with the sick woman. Yet when one of my
baby sisters arrived, while I was away to school, Grandmother solemnly declared
that she found the baby in the flour bin, when she went there for flour to make
some bread. Anyway, I wish now that we knew the number of babies that she
delivered, it would be quite a number I am sure. No one knows better than I the
sacrifices of the noble mid-wives of the early pioneer days, and the courage of
the mothers, for six of my children were born without medical help. Grandmother
was a natural born nurse, for her hands were gentle and sure and she could
soothe me when I was ill as no one else could do. Plump capable Grandmother,
and dear, gentle Grandfather, is the expression that comes as naturally to my
lips as my very breath of life.

Grandfather, as I remember, was tall and rather rawboned with kindly blue eyes,
with a decided twinkle in them. Grandmother had wit and humor that won her way
into our hearts, but Grandfather had gentleness. He could bluster about, in a
quick sort of tempery way, but always the blustering gave way to simple
gentleness. There was a time that Grandmother and my mother decided to surprise
him with a party on his birthday. Everything was in readiness and Grandmother
couldn't budge Grandfather from his own fireside. "Let's go spend the evening
with Tom and Lydia," she urged. But he shook his head, "Tom won't be back from
Price," he declared and settled himself in his favorite chair. At last Father
and Mother trumped up an excuse and sent Tilly and me after him. We were to
tell him that our only cow "Honey" was choking to death on a potato that she
had tried to eat. Grandfather got up from his chair in a hurry sputtering all
the way about Lydia never cutting her potatoes small enough for the cow. Tilly
and I had a hard time keeping up with Grandfather, but we wanted to see the
fun, so we arrived right on his heels. The house was poorly lighted with one
coaloil lamp and Grandfather rushed through the door exclaiming, "Damit all,
Lydia, I've told you to cut the potatoes small for the cow. Serve you right if
she'd choke to death. Hand me that lantern." The crowd laughed loudly and he
sidled up to Mother and put an arm about her shoulders, "Well Lydia is a fine
woman, but she don't cut potatoes small enough," He defended. Grandmother came
panting in for we had left her behind in our hurry. She grabbed Grandfather by
his coat tails and danced about the room until he was in good humor again.

Grandfather worked hard those first years in Huntington, and with Grandmother's
help, for she was more frugal than he, they soon became very comfortably fixed.
They had a comfortable home, a farm well-equipped for those times, and he owned
some stock in the Co-op store. In later years when Grandfather's health began
to break, he spent a great deal of time in the store. When sent to the store on
an errand I would find him there, sitting on a barrel of molasses or keg of
nails and at sight of me, he would begin to sing:

    O, Lucy, dear Lucy, O, why in such haste,
    O'er the fields and the meadows all day have I chased
    Searching for a fair maid who does me disdain,
    And aught to reward me for all my past pain.

I have heard the song sung by no one except Grandfather, and in my heart it is
our theme song. I have always imagined that it was an old English ballad, but
if it had many verses as ballads do, I never heard them. He loved to sing and
we loved to hear him sing. I think most of his grandchildren remember the
following song which he always sang to us, and believe me, he could make his
mimic of the old tom cat in his dying words sound to perfection like such a
cat.

    Mrs. Gripe was so fond of tripe,
    No poor soul was thinner,
    In her Sunday clothes to market goes
    To buy some tripe for dinner.

    As she was passing along the street,
    She happened on neighbor Tidy,
    Who said to her, now don't you know
    You shouldn't buy tripe on Friday.

    Chorus:
    You mustn't buy tripe on Friday,
    You mustn't buy tripe on Friday,
    No, you mustn't, indeed you mustn't
    You shouldn't buy tripe on Friday.

    But on she went, the tripe she bought,
    She hung in on the dresser,
    Her pet tom cat was standing by
    he soon did make it lesser,
    A large piece stuck into his throat,
    Which choked him neat and tidy,
    And as he died, he seemed to say,
    You shouldn't buy tripe on Friday.

This is as the song lives in my memory. If anyone remembers it differently, it
can be reconstructed or left as it is. I don't think that any two people
remember a song alike.

Strange today, how the memory of their goodness and faithfulness stirs within
me, but I could write on and on about them. The thing that has always impressed
me was their faithfulness to the gospel. Leaving England, as they did, banished
from their homes and loved ones. The long, hard trek across the desert to
gather with the saints in Salt Lake City, Utah, the pioneering in Southern
Utah, and Nevada, the lonely small graves that marked the way of their
wanderings, how could it not have left scars upon their souls? But as I
remember them, there was no bitterness within their hearts, only a firm
thankfulness that the gospel of Jesus Christ had reached them in far-off
England, and a thankfulness that they had the courage of standing by their
convictions. I remember that Grandmother told me once of a young married couple
who had joined the Church and left England with them, and during their stay in
St. Louis, the other couple decide to return to England, and renounce the
religion, if need be. Her voice was always filled with pity as she spoke of
that instance, and I knew that she was thankful that she and Grandfather had
not faltered in following the path that they had chosen. And so I am thankful
for my heritage and hope to be as true to the faith as Grandfather and
Grandmother were. And then perhaps I shall hear Grandfather's voice as he
welcomes me to the great beyond still singing:

    O, Lucy, dear Lucy, O, why in such haste,
    O'er the fields and the meadows all this day have I chased,
    Searching for a fair maid who does me disdain,
    And aught to reward me for all my past pain.

### -- Lucy Stolworthy Burnham

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* 24 Oct 2010 - Typed by Mark Esplin.
* 7 Sep 2010 - Converted to [markdown](http://daringfireball.net/projects/markdown) by Daniel Esplin