more photos

Margaret, Thelma, Ernie, Lily:


Margaret:


Jack, Richard, Miriam, my mother, Tommy, Celia, Lily, Eddie, Mary:


Marian and Jimmy:


Tommy, Mary, Margaret, Lily, Thelma:

Wedding Reception

There I was, walking up Haven Street, pass the Smalls where Jimmy Small -out there in the yard, always said a big hello, and Mother Small waved from the porch window. We -- oh, I must have been accompanied by the rest of the "kids," my brothers Richard and Ernie, but I was not aware of them -- crossed the tracks of the New England and Hartford RR, up to the big white house where Margaret, Nellie, Jimmy and --

I'm so mixed up! Was there a Fred Allen? Or was this Fred Tingley, who married Margaret (not this Margaret, but Margaret Small!) Oh, this is getting to be as bad as tracking down the Joneses for my family tree!

Anyway, Jimmie Allen always gave us a big smile with his hello, and then we heard "there goes the little Jones girl, and there's the little boys -- all of them!" (no, they knew it wasn't 'all of them.' They never used the term, "kids," the name we had become used to, at home.

And so we walked, past the other big house on the left, where noone seemed to be at home, and we crossed the main road, Village Street. No cars. We joined the people already gathered at the house "with the open porch." That was our cue so we'd get to the right place. Lots of busy people were there already, moving about the lawn, and lots of music, and noise.

We were collected and grouped together for a momentous shot, but then pushed back a little so that the bride and groom, my brother and his bride Ruth, could have their pictures taken, in a group with Tommy, best man, bridesmaid Avis, Ruth's sister, her father and mother Hardy, Tommy's, and our, mother and father Jones. And then, we were collected for a group shot.

I remember me - with the fat, heavy curls over my shoulders, a huge red ribbon on the top of my head -- don't remember what I wore, except for the black patent leather shoes, strap across the instep .

There was a lot of confusion after that, people moving around, laughing, eating, much confusion and I believe a great deal went on after we -- the kids --crossed Village and walked down Haven Street, with good things to eat in our mouths and hands, past the Allens, past the Smalls, and up our driveway, home.

the marsh at noon today

See the men out there fishing?


Looking west from our dock:

the marsh

We looked out and saw an ocean-- the marsh was gone. Where are we? Well, it looked like an ocean, the turbulent winds blowing across, encouraging the surf and rearranging it. The channel of the marsh, which runs along just in front of our dock, was undefinable, merging with the marsh's high waters. This was the first time since we arrived in S.Carolina that we had ever seen such an amazing view from the house. And the winds blew -- across our porch and we stared, and stared, and stared.

Just for comparison, here's a picture we took while Margaret was here. It shows how the marsh looks halfway between low and high tide on a normal day:


This Morning

The marsh! Seemed it got a really good scrubbing last night. The wash water has not yet been emptied, giving us back our "channel" by the dock here, like a small river -- I can hear it rippling in the wind. Looking out over our freshly cleaned marsh, there's a rowboat and there is no doubt that the man is fishing -- there are the pelicans, 3 of them, following along -- do they expect oyster scraps, small fish or whatever the man in the boat throws out, or drops? He motored around the bend. The pelicans fly up and over. I've lost them. It's very quiet here, and the marsh is so very, very clean.

Mary and Margaret at the park

View of the marsh:


Tiny crabs:


Fishing pier and willet:


Can anyone name this fella?

family photos

My parents:


My family:


My brother Eddie:


Eddie with his wife, Celia, and his two sons, Donald and Jimmy:

my mother

Uncle Tom

His station wagon pulled
to a stop in our driveway
that morning.
"Who can that be?" my mother
asked nobody in particular.

A man, dressed casually and
under a soft hat, looked
around and just stood there.

"It's Tom," my mother said,
"It's your Uncle Tom,"
and started for the door.
Of course, we reached
the door first.

I remember the last time
Uncle Tom visited with us.
I remember the times he would
dump out a box on the dining room table.
Colored paper, erasers, paper clips,
rubber bands, yellow, blue and white
cards and I had never before seen such
an array of pencils, except in school.

My uncle Tom was a printer
My gift the last time —
a small lead plate, reading:
“MARY ELIZABETH JONES.”

This morning,
his one glass eye stopped us.
Even his smile, as my mother
approached and he gave her
a big hug, didn't move us closer.

Reaching into his wagon,
he came out with two oranges
placed them in each of our hands,
"Here," he said, "for you —
all the way from my trees
in Florida.

"Where's Joe?" he asked.
And before anyone answered,
his head in and out of his wagon again:
"This is for him."

The last time he was here,
Joe asked him if he could
drive his wagon.
"Oh no, this old pal of mine
has to take me all the way
back to your Aunt Bessie,
bless her."

cat, Mary, nephew Jimmy, Richard, Ernie

my brothers: Tommy and Richard

Richard

The Pilot

The plane came zooming down and then
It circled round and round again
I loved that plane, I wished t’were mine
Coveted — the sleek design

I wanted to soar — to touch a cloud
Wanted to look down, shout out loud:
“Hey, look at me — I’m in the sky
I’m piloting the plane, am I”

And down I’m falling, back to earth
Tiny plane of steel (for what it’s worth!)
My brother, ten, down on his knees —
“Look out! Look out!” — I feel the breeze

A child was I though all of twelve
Into this play I chose to delve
And on that day he lay there, dying
I wasn’t there — I was up there flying

She’s twelve years old -- and not aware?
Perhaps it did not seem so
Please know that I could, I did care
Although I let no tear show

That awful day that won’t go away
A tear I could not shed
It’s sometimes what you want to say
That's worse than what you said

On that awful day that won’t go away
There it was, inside my head:
“It’s now my plane? The plane is mine
It’s mine — the pilot's dead.”

Asheville weekend

my new look:


my new friend Bev:


my new friends Susan and Pat:


that last one was yesterday, before the "do"

with huge thanks to Kathy . . .

Virginia, my brother Joe's wife, holding Kathy, age 2
My mother, Lillian Jones
My father, James Jones
Kathy's brothers Fran and Bobby

sunshine and shadow

Mabel brought me to Middleboro where she worked summers at Lakeville State Sanitorium. She let me watch while she and an aide gathered up the littlest ones and spread them on the lawn, on mats where they could crawl or nap in the sun -- completely bare. Mabel believed in the sun's cure or at least benefit. These children had polio or some bone problem, and she believed a daily dose of sun just might help. She had the aide take me into the hospital while she sat with the babies outside.

Inside I couldn't believe my eyes. Young children with complete body casts, arms and legs fully active, some with lesser casts -- making their way, however they could, from crib to crib, shouting, laughing, pulling at one another and having a great time and the place was as raucous as any playground I've been in in.

It was beautifully noisy, and sad.

Ernie

ESTHER, ERNIE AND I WERE IN HIGH SCHOOL TOGETHER --WELL, NOT REALLY TOGETHER, WE HARDLY EVER RECOGNIZED ONE ANOTHER ON THE SCHOOL GROUNDS. HOWEVER, ERNIE DID MAKE SOME WAVES SOMETIMES AND I'D HEAR AND I'D HEAR ABOUT THEM SOMEHOW. ONE DAY ERNIE CHALLENGED HIS MATH TEACHER, THE PRINCIPAL, WHO WAS AT THE BOARD EXPLAINING SOME MATH PROBLEM. ERNIE INTERRUPTED HIM AND SAID "NO, THAT'S NOT IT!" HE WOULD NOT LET THE PRINCIPAL SPEAK ANY FURTHER BUT INSTEAD STARTED TO ARGUE, AND RUSHED UP TO THE BLACKBOARD TO CHALK HIS IDEA ON THE BOARD. THE PRINCIPAL WAS VERY ANGRY AND MADE ERNIE LEAVE THE ROOM. LATER THE HE MET ERNIE IN THE HALL, PUT HIS HAND ON HIS BRIGHT STUDENT'S SHOULDER AND APOLOGIZED SAID -- "YOU WERE RIGHT, YOU KNOW. AFTER THAT, HE AND ERNIE WERE GREAT FRIENDS. THIS WAS TOLD TO ME BY BILLY, ERNIE'S BEST FRIEND, AND MINE.

ERNIE WAS GOOD IN ENGLISH TOO. HE WOULD CARRY SHAKESPEARE IN HIS BACK POCKET. I NEVER SAW HIM STUDY BUT HE ALWAYS KNEW THE ANSWERS. HE STUDIED IN THE STUDY PERIODS OR AT LUNCH. HE WASN'T A GREAT MIXER, STANDING AROUND CUTTING UP OR THINGS LIKE THAT.

HE AND I WERE GREAT FRIENDS AT HOME -- I THOUGHT HE WAS THE GREATEST. HE COULD ORDER ME AROUND: GET ME THIS, GET ME THAT, FIND THIS FOR ME. AND HE'D GO ON PLAYING HIS TRUMPET. I LOVED THAT TRUMPET AND SOMETIMES HE WOULD PLAY THINGS WHEN I ASKED HIM TO, BUT ONLY AFTER PLAYING A SONG OR TWO THAT I DIDN'T ASK FOR, JUST TO SEE IF I'D GET MAD BUT I DIDN'T.

ERNIE ALWAYS WAS READY FOR AN ARGUMENT. HE ALWAYS SEEMED TO WIN OR MAKE SOMEONE REALLY MAD. THIS WAS A DISQUIETING MOMENT IN THE HOUSE.

ERNIE WAS DISSATISFIED WITH HIS LIFE, AND DISAPPOINTED. BUT HIS TRUMPET BROUGHT OUT HIS SMILE ALWAYS. WHEN HE WAS ACCEPTED AT MASSACHUSETTS INSTITUTE OF TECHNOLOGY AND LEARNED THAT THE MONEY WASN'T AVAILABLE FOR HIM TO GO THERE, HE JOINED THE ARMY, PLAYED IN THE ARMY BAND AT FT. DEVENS, MA. HE'D HAVE SOME SOLDIER BRING HIM HOME ON OCCASION, BUT GOT UPSET WHEN THEY PAID ANY ATTENTION TO HIS LITTLE SISTER -- I DIDN'T CARE, ONE WAY OR THE OTHER. I JUST LOVED TO HEAR HIM PLAY THE TRUMPET, ORDER ME AROUND, AND SMILE. BEAUTIFUL!

Leo

My second oldest brother, Leo, is forever in my memory. He was always here for everybody. I remember him down by the river, with his rose bushes, his canoe. His rules for Ernie (who will be covered in another tale) and me not to get too close to the water, not to step on his flowers.

Leo was here with his car, to take us on rides, to visit with our aunts and uncles, and cousins in Watertown, Quincy, or just to ride and see the scenery, water, farm country with its cows, or to Boston, and on such rides we occupied our time singing, playing road games, naming the various cars on the road, checking out plates from different states, counting the cows

Leo played the violin, and sometimes would play with my brother Jimmy, who was here occasionally, even after he married. Leo was tea teaching me to play the violin and I did learn one piece (I remember it -- Toselli's eSerenade). My teacher was very strict and demanded my full attention to the lesson. One day he was listening to my work and I noticed some eyes at the window; my friends Eleanor and Norma grinning and making faces. This was too much and no matter how much I pleaded, Leo only said, "ignore them." Of course I wouldn't, and that was the end of my violin lessons.

I especially remember Leo, helping me with accounting homework, when I was in high school, and making it all clear to me. I can still feel his presence, looking over my shoulder, to the point where I began to understand some of the practices and even enjoy the study. And I remember his small desk in the hall where his yellow No.2 pencils, all sharpened to a perfect point, lay lined up, not to be disturbed by anyone (he made that quite clear to all of us). Leo was an accounting supervisor at Fabyan Woolen Mills, and the building they occupied became the location of Esther's Condo (at Sanford Apts) -- but another piece on my sister, Esther

When he worked at Fabyan Mills, Leo used to bring home bolts of woolen material, some really nice hues. Esther and I would select the wool we liked and Celia would made skirts for us. A few of my friends would stop by to look over the wool and for a small price, would purchase enough for a skirt, or jacket. They would prolong the visit, much to my distress, because they had Leo's undivided attention and I was a bit jealous of this.

I will never forget the day Leo drove me to have an interview for job, after I graduated from high school and began to be somewhat of a nuisance hanging around the house. I dreaded this, and I am not sure I made a really good impression on the man I was applying to work for. Anyway, on the ride home, I said to Leo something like: "I don't think I got the job, but anyway it's not important -- I have plenty of time." Leo's response really shook me up: "It's important -- you have to work like the rest of us; you're not a princess, you know."

my sisters Thelma, Lily, and Mabel

Mabel

My oldest sister Mabel, before she became a nurse, was the one we ran to when we stepped on a nail, scraped our knee, got a splinter in our hand, or "couldn't see." Mabel soaked our foot, bandaged our knee, lifted out the splinter, removed the foreign object from the eye. She smiled at our faces and things got better. After a while Mabel wasn't with us anymore; she was away studying to be a nurse. Occasionally, one of my older brothers would drive to Framingham and bring her home but only for a short time, and then we'd bring her back to the Nursing School in Framingham. We enjoyed the ride but were always sad to leave her there. But there were later times, after she became a nurse and later after she was firmly established as an RN and had her own car, that she would take us for rides, we'd sing (she'd teach us the words), we'd read the Burma Shave quips posted along the highway, look for cows in the fields and horses down by a fence and number plates of another state, as the cars whizzed by.

in Hawaii, my nephew John

the missing man

I forget his name -- he was nice, easy to be with, a great rollerskater, and he drove up every Sunday afternoon (this was our date) with his mother -- he said, "she loved to go for a drive on Sundays." And he had a job, tending guinea pigs at a local hospital, feeding them, cleaning up after them, making sure they were "comfortable for the night." I was dating soldiers -- hand-picked for me by John. John and Catherine had brought me up from Medway to their home in Virginia -- Fort Myers, home of the 3rd cavalry -- they had two young daughters and watched over me as they did their daughters. But I was 23 and looking for my independence, which I couldn't have (or thought so) at home. This photo was taken at the Fort one day. John, seeing the car drive up would say, Here's your "guinea pig nurse, Mary" -- he was somewhat cruel at times (particularly when he'd prefer I'd pick one of his soldiers).