Last week I was at Campmeeting in South Lancaster, Massachusetts. It was a good time. It started on Friday night, went on throughout the weekend, and then all the next week. I did meet up with some old friends and acquaintances and met some new people. I am glad I went. The last part of the week was cold and rainy, yet I was still glad to be there.
June 28, 2011
June 12, 2011
Grave Hunting
Today my mother and I decided to look for some graves of our ancestors in Rhode Island. We went to the Pocasset Cemetery in Cranston, Rhode Island. It is a suburb of Providence. I did know that my great-grand parents were buried somewhere in or near Providence. My Uncle Jimmy told me which cemetery to go to, and I was anxious to go. I haven't known much about my family's history until recently. He told me that my great-grandmother arrived in Boston, Massachusetts on a ship from Liverpool, England. It was November 28, 1880 and it was her fifth birthday. Her parents, Samuel and Mary (Standring) Jackson had 10 or 11 children. I do wonder how many came with them from England.
The cemetery has 25,000 burials and has three sections. We had no idea where to start looking in there. We drove into the back of the cemetery. My mother decided to take a right because that part seemed like the old section. There were some areas that had just a few gravestones here and there, yet were dominated by small plain markers. Those must be some old burial grounds that were moved there, and even pauper's graves.
Soon my mother noticed a big stone that said "ASHTON" on it. We got out of the car and I saw on the back five names:
James Ashton d. 1933
His wife Ellen Jackson d. 1967
James F. Ashton 1908-1912
Mary Jackson d. 1930
Frank Jackson d.1961
That was it. It didn't take us long to find it at all. There were my great-grandparents James and Ellen (Jackson) Ashton, both born in England. Their son James Franklin Ashton died at age four. Mary Jackson is my great-great grandmother, Ellen's mother. I had never heard of Frank Jackson and I'm assuming it's my great-grandmother's brother.
I was surprised to see just one big stone for a lot of family members. The stone looked fairly new, maybe 40 years old at the most. Some family members put that there. I do wonder what happened to the original markers. Maybe they lie beneath the grass somewhere.
I thought about it: the first person to die was James Franklin Ashton at age four in 1912. I do wonder how he died. A child dying in 1912 was nothing uncommon though. He was alone in the plot until 18 years later when his grandmother passed away in 1930. Three years later his father was buried there. Finally the last two burials would happen in the 1960s, those of his Uncle Frank (maybe where the tot's middle name came from) and his mother. His mother had spent 55 years without her son and 34 years without her husband.
One very strange thing is that my family knew nothing of little James Franklin Ashton. My great-grandparents had four children after him, all born around 1911-1916. They would later adopt a boy named William. By the time my grandmother Gladys was born in 1916, they were living in Winchester, New Hampshire. As far as I know, the young four year-old boy was never mentioned.
I do wonder why the death of young James was never talked about. Maybe my great-grandparents thought it was too painful to discuss. They moved away quickly, yet in the end both parents, a grandparent, and an uncle would join him in their final resting place.
I still do have some questions. Why is my great-great-grandmother not buried next to her husband? Where is Samuel Jackson now? Could he be buried in another nearby cemetery with other family members? Why is this group all alone, with so many family members that were around?
I tried to picture in my head, ninety-nine years ago when little James was buried there. I could see a horse-drawn hearse and a sad little coffin. A firstborn child was being buried. The family would soon move far away, and yet even decades later a few coffins would be taken many miles to be at that place, just so a few people can rest together, all near a beloved 4 year-old boy.
The cemetery has 25,000 burials and has three sections. We had no idea where to start looking in there. We drove into the back of the cemetery. My mother decided to take a right because that part seemed like the old section. There were some areas that had just a few gravestones here and there, yet were dominated by small plain markers. Those must be some old burial grounds that were moved there, and even pauper's graves.
Soon my mother noticed a big stone that said "ASHTON" on it. We got out of the car and I saw on the back five names:
James Ashton d. 1933
His wife Ellen Jackson d. 1967
James F. Ashton 1908-1912
Mary Jackson d. 1930
Frank Jackson d.1961
That was it. It didn't take us long to find it at all. There were my great-grandparents James and Ellen (Jackson) Ashton, both born in England. Their son James Franklin Ashton died at age four. Mary Jackson is my great-great grandmother, Ellen's mother. I had never heard of Frank Jackson and I'm assuming it's my great-grandmother's brother.
I was surprised to see just one big stone for a lot of family members. The stone looked fairly new, maybe 40 years old at the most. Some family members put that there. I do wonder what happened to the original markers. Maybe they lie beneath the grass somewhere.
I thought about it: the first person to die was James Franklin Ashton at age four in 1912. I do wonder how he died. A child dying in 1912 was nothing uncommon though. He was alone in the plot until 18 years later when his grandmother passed away in 1930. Three years later his father was buried there. Finally the last two burials would happen in the 1960s, those of his Uncle Frank (maybe where the tot's middle name came from) and his mother. His mother had spent 55 years without her son and 34 years without her husband.
One very strange thing is that my family knew nothing of little James Franklin Ashton. My great-grandparents had four children after him, all born around 1911-1916. They would later adopt a boy named William. By the time my grandmother Gladys was born in 1916, they were living in Winchester, New Hampshire. As far as I know, the young four year-old boy was never mentioned.
I do wonder why the death of young James was never talked about. Maybe my great-grandparents thought it was too painful to discuss. They moved away quickly, yet in the end both parents, a grandparent, and an uncle would join him in their final resting place.
I still do have some questions. Why is my great-great-grandmother not buried next to her husband? Where is Samuel Jackson now? Could he be buried in another nearby cemetery with other family members? Why is this group all alone, with so many family members that were around?
I tried to picture in my head, ninety-nine years ago when little James was buried there. I could see a horse-drawn hearse and a sad little coffin. A firstborn child was being buried. The family would soon move far away, and yet even decades later a few coffins would be taken many miles to be at that place, just so a few people can rest together, all near a beloved 4 year-old boy.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)