Squeezing the Margarine

Several years ago, I asked the Professor if he remembered squeezing the white margarine to spread the dye throughout the bland looking substance.  He had  no idea what I was talking about.  It could be that his family did not save money by buying margarine instead of butter.  The family this blogger grew up in definitely lived on a budget and we grew up eating margarine at our house instead of the more expensive butter.  

Today I read a note about the origin of margarine on someone's Facebook page.  After reading it, I started looking up the history of oleomargarine.  Apparently the United States changed its laws about the color of margarine long before any of the Canadian provinces did.   As the excerpt below indicates,  in most households the children did the squeezing of the dot of deep yellow dye to make the package of margarine yellow.  I am not sure that we fought about it but I do remember the great pleasure I had at six or seven when I got to squeeze the margarine to mix in the color.  

I have no idea what brand of margarine we ate at the Fisher house.  Delrich does not sound at all familiar, but this copy of an old advertisement catches the spirit of the activity very well.  

 

Margarine originated with the discovery by French chemist Michel Eugène Chevreul in 1813 of margaric acid. 

Emperor Napoleon III of France offered a prize to anyone who could make a satisfactory alternative for butter, suitable for use by the armed forces and the lower classes.^[34] French chemist Hippolyte Mège-Mouriès invented a substance he called oleomargarine, the name of which became shortened to the trade name "margarine".

During WWII in the U.S., there was a shortage of butter and "oleomargine" became popular. The dairy firms, especially in Wisconsin, became alarmed and succeeded in getting legislation passed to prohibit the coloring of the stark white product. In response, the margarine companies distributed the margarine together with a packet of yellow dye. The product was placed in a bowl and the dye mixed in with a spoon. This took some time and effort and it was not unusual for the final product to be served as a light and dark yellow, or even white, striped product. 

In 1951 the W. E. Dennison Company received patent number 2,553,513 for a method to place a capsule of yellow dye inside a plastic package of margarine. After purchase, the capsule was broken inside the package and then the package was kneaded to distribute the dye. Although this was considerably less effort than mixing with a spoon in a bowl, it was a job usually given to the children of the household, some of whom enjoyed it immensely. Around 1955, the artificial coloring laws were repealed and margarine could for the first time be sold colored like butter.

Canada

In Canada, margarine was banned from 1886 until 1948, though this ban was temporarily lifted from 1917 until 1923 due to dairy shortages.^[52] Nevertheless, bootleg margarine was produced in the neighbouring Dominion of Newfoundland from whale, seal, and fish oil by the Newfoundland Butter Company and was smuggled to Canada where it was widely sold for half the price of butter. The Supreme Court of Canada lifted the margarine ban in 1948 in the Margarine Reference.

In 1950, as a result of a court ruling giving provinces the right to regulate the product, rules were implemented in much of Canada regarding margarine's colour, requiring it to be bright yellow or orange in some provinces or colourless in others. By the 1980s, most provinces had lifted the restriction. However, in Ontario it was not legal to sell butter-coloured margarine until 1995.^[52] Quebec, the last Canadian province to regulate margarine coloring, repealed its law requiring margarine to be colourless in July 2008.^[53]

I suspect that coloured margarine was sold in both Ontario and Quebec long before the regulations about margarine were repealed.  I don't remember any white margarine when I was a teenager living in Quebec.  I am not sure if we used Blue Bonnet margarine in our home, but I certainly remember the slogans and the jingle advertising it.    (Just ignore the second commercial for coffee, please).  

1. 
   
2. ^ O'Connor, Anahad (16 October 2007). "The Claim: Margarine Is Healthier Than Butter.". New York Times (New York Times Company). Retrieved 10 October 2009.
3. ^ ^a b "Canada's conflicted relationship with margarine". CBC News Online. 2005-03-18. Retrieved 2007-08-28.

1976 - Snohomish County Tribune

The Snohomish County Tribune 

VolumeLXXXVII, No. 46 Thursday, December 2, 1976 

 114 Avenue C, Snohomish, WA 98290

Margaret and John Duce’s children made their Grandmother Fisher real happy on her birthday November 20 when they presented her with a birthday cake they had baked and iced themselves. Mrs. Fisher said, the cake was one of the nicest gifts she had ever received. The following day, Margaret and John entertained her parents at a Chinese dinner in Everett. The occasion was the anniversary of the Fishers. The Snohomish County Tribune VolumeLXXXVII, No. 46 Thursday, December 2, 1976 114 Avenue C, Snohomish, WA 98290 Margaret and John Duce’s children made their Grandmother Fisher real happy on her birthday November 20 when they presented her with a birthday cake they had baked and iced themselves. Mrs. Fisher said, the cake was one of the nicest gifts she had ever received. The following day, Margaret and John entertained her parents at a Chinese dinner in Everett. The occasion was the anniversary of the Fishers.

Xmas Wreaths

Most recipes for the type of cookies I am thinking of are called thumbprint cookies.  Muriel called her cookies Christmas Wreaths (Xmas Wreaths).  A fitting name for this season of the year.

1/2 cup butter
1/4 cup brown sugar
1 egg separated
1 cup sifted flour
1 cup fine coconut or finely chopped walnuts
Strawberry jam or any red jelly

Cream butter and sugar until light and fluffy.  Mix in slightly beaten egg yolk.  Add flour.  Form dough into small balls.  Dip in egg white which has been slightly beaten with a fork.  Gently roll in coconut or walnuts.  Place on buttered cookie sheet.  Press centres with finger.  Bake in 300 degree oven.  After 8 minutes of baking, take the cookies out of the oven and press in the centers again.  Return to oven and continue baking 10 to 15 minutes longer.  Cool slightly. Remove from cookie sheet and fill centres with jam or jelly while the cookies are still warm.



Muriel frequently used the wide round end of the candy thermometer to press the dent in the cookies.

Sweet and Sour Short Ribs

I heard a story once long ago about a young man who was trying to decide whom to marry.  He lived in the frugal pioneer days.  He went to visit both young women while they were making pie.  The first girl trimmed off the excess dough and went to the door of the kitchen and threw the crumbs to the birds.  The second girl carefully trimmed off the excess dough and used it to make something small to put in the oven.  Of course, the practical young man chose to marry the thrifty young woman.

I am not sure that Muriel was exactly like the thrifty young woman but she had grown up during the Great Depression and knew about hardships in life.  She went to the grocery store once a week with Bob and cooked dinner seven days a week.

When she got close to the bottom of the catsup bottle, I knew that maybe we would have sweet and sour short ribs for dinner.  It was and still is one of my favorite dinners.

Sweet and Sour Short Ribs

2 1/2 to 3 lbs of short ribs
Salt, pepper, flour, fat
1 cup sliced onions
1 clove garlic
1 1/2 cups hot water
1 small bay leaf
1/4 cup vinegar
3 tbsps brown sugar
1/3 cup catsup/ketchup
1/2 tsp salt

Cut short ribs into individual serving pieces.  Remove any excess fat.  Sprinkle with salt and pepper and dredge with flour.  Brow well on all sides in a large skillet or Dutch oven.  Add onions and garlic and cook 5 minutes.  Combine remaining ingredients and pour over ribs.  Cover and cook over low heat for 2 1/2 to 3 hours.

Remove ribs to warm platter and keep hot.  Pour off fat from gravy, then stir in about 2 tbsps flour and enough water to dilute gravy to strength desired.

The recipe is written on a card in Muriel's small precise handwriting.  Even though it is in a plastic sleeve, the ink is starting to fade.  I have had the recipe for about 41 years - just shortly after I was married.

There are several other recipes of hers that I enjoy and am grateful that I have.  Mom/Muriel used to make fruit cake every Christmas.  Even though there are a lot of people who make jokes about fruit cake, I loved the cake that my mother made.  It was dark and firm and sat for about a month before it was cut up and eaten at Christmas time.  She would cook the cakes in her cast iron skillets.

I have a somewhat confused copy of the recipe she used, but I have never had the courage to try to make it myself.  She also used to make sugar cookies at Christmas time.  Some of them would have nuts in them and others would have the fruit that she used in the cakes.  She would role the cookie dough up in waxed paper and put it in the refrigerator.  When she was ready she would cut cookies off the round tube of dough and bake them in the oven.  I can almost remember the sweet smell of the kitchen.  I wish that I had learned how to make those cookies from my mum.  The thought of them brings back pleasant memories of Christmas time.

December 5th, 2012

While I was looking in my recipe box for Christmas Wreath cookies, I came across this recipe for 

Refrigerator Cookies - Xmas Version

1/2 cup butter 

1 cup brown sugar

1 egg
1 1/2 cups sifted flour
1/2 tsp baking soda
1/2 tsp cream of tartar
1/2 tsp salt
1/2 cup mixed sliced red and green cherries
1/4 cup chopped nuts
1/4 cup slivered citron peel

Sift, then measure flour*, resift with salt, baking soda, and cream of tartar twice.  Cream butter until soft, add sugar and well beaten egg.  Add flour mixture, then add fruit and nuts.  Form into two rolls.  Wrap in wax paper and store in the refrigerator overnight until chilled.  Slice the roll thinly and bake on greased cookie sheet in 400 degree oven for 10 minutes or until golden in color.

(I use fruit cake mix in place of cherries and citron peel as it contains both - giving a varied coloring.)

*Note from Elaine:  Usually flour now has been pre-sifted.  Stirring the flour before measuring should make the flour light and ready for use.)

Muriel's Memories of Childhood

Hollyhocks

Hollyhocks

Outside of the house where Muriel grew up was a large hollyhock bush.  I don't think it was supposed to be a bush, but to me as a nine year old girl, it seemed tall and broad.  Hollyhock blossoms are made for little girls to dream about.  I am convinced.  I can remember picking blossoms from the plant and pretending that they were beautiful ballerinas.



Once in awhile I will see a hollyhock plant here where I live.  They always remind me of Grandpa and  Grandma Toole's home in Medicine Hat.  Happy memories of a brief moment of dreaming with a delicate dancer in my hand.

I often wonder if there are still hollyhocks growing in the garden.  The house is still there and a cousin's daughter lives there.  I hope she kept the hollyhocks.

DOLLS

When mother dear wore gingham frocks, 

Her dollies grew on hollyhocks.

Here was a lady clad in silk,

there was another, white as milk.

Dainty dolls in silken frocks

Blooming on the hollyhocks,

Bowing low at every breeze;

Nodding to the bumble-bees.

Darling dolls in dainty frocks

Blooming on the hollyhocks.  

Small quiet blessings:

A few days after my mother died, my husband left for a month of travel and lecturing.  I arrived home from my mom’s funeral in the evening. Earlier that morning my husband Earl left for Brazil.  From Brazil he traveled on to West Africa. 

My mother, Muriel Isabel Toole Fisher, was involved in an automobile accident on her way to work on Monday morning.  She was conscious and was able to sign the consent forms for surgery and give the people at the hospital the number to reach her husband/my father John Robert Fisher (Bob).  She never gained consciousness following the surgery. 

A few weeks after Mom’s death, my dad drove to Utah and stayed with us for a few days.  It was the summer of 1982 and I was alone with four small children.  It was hot in our house without air conditioning.  My two year old daughter, Kimberly, and I were sleeping on a mattress downstairs in the study.  At least we were trying to sleep.  She cried and cried and cried.  There did not seem to be anything that I could do to console her.

 I was not too surprised when my father knocked on the door and came in.  He had been unable to sleep because of the crying baby.  He quietly asked me if I would like him to give Kimberly a blessing.  When I said yes, he knelt beside the mattress and put his hands on her head and gave her a grandfather’s blessing.  I have no recollection of anything that he said, but she stopped crying and immediately fell into a quiet, untroubled sleep. 

Too often I forget about what Elder Bednar calls “Heavenly Father’s” tender mercies.  This was a quiet moment in our lives when a special blessing calmed not only a two year old but my troubled souls as well.  

Bees Sting

Last summer while walking barefoot on the beach in California, I stepped on a bee.  At first I had no idea what I had stepped on that had caused immediate pain.  I leaned on the professor for balance and lifted my foot.  There was the bee.  It was dead on the beach long before I had come across it.  I carefully removed the black stinger from the wound but it did not help ease the pain.

More than anything I was surprised by how much my foot hurt.  Such a tiny insect and apparently so full of venom.

I was reminded of a summer long ago.  It must have been 1958.  The year before my grandmother Fisher had died.  Probably it reminded my parents of how much older their parents were growing and of their mortality.  We set out for the drive from Ontario to Alberta driving south and through the United States, then back north into Canada again.  Four children and two adults.  We would stop for awhile at night and sleep in the car or in the open.  Muriel and Bob took turns driving.  We all noticed that when Dad fell asleep the car seemed to travel faster with Mom at the wheel.

At one point, Bob pulled the car over and prepared to have Muriel drive.  She has taken her shoes off to relax while not at the wheel.  When she put one of her shoes back on, she cried out.  She shook her shoe over the gravel edge of the road and out came a bee.

I don't remember what happened after that.  I don't know if she got medicine to put on the sting or whether she drove again.  I have no memory of those events, but I remember clearly the message that "outdoors," you always need to check your shoes before putting them back on.

Yellow Bananas

Most of the years when I was growing up, Muriel worked outside of the home.  When we lived in Lisle and Thornton, Ontario, she and Bob would go shopping once a week on Saturday.  When they got home from the grocery store, it was like Christmas every week.  It was so exciting to see what they had bought.

Both of them were depression era children; so, they were always frugal.  Among the groceries there would often be six bananas.  I had learned from past experience that if I did not eat my banana immediately someone else would.  There was no way to save such a treat.  Of course, counting every cent, the bananas were just slightly over ripe.  They had just a few brown spots.

I can remember the first time that I ate a banana that was a beautiful, pristine yellow fruit.  I was 12 years old and we had gone to visit some friends, the Finlaysons.  They lived in a little house in Virton, Belgium.  I would never have told Joyce Finlayson that this was the first spotless banana I had ever eaten, but I savored every bite.

Now bananas are one of the least expensive fruits at the market.
Bananas can be perfect firm yellow fruit when they come home in the grocery bag, but it doesn't take long for them to become overripe.  I still enjoy eating bananas.  Once upon a time, I would make banana bread with the overripe ones, but I don't bake very often now.  I still enjoy the bread too.  I suspect that there might not have been any leftover bananas in the Fisher household to use in making quick bread.

Ironing shirts

One day in the mid to late 1950s Muriel came home from work and told us about an article she had read in a magazine. The essay had been about how to iron a man's shirt.

The author said that he had always wondered how the Chinese laundry where he took his shirts got them so well cleaned and pressed. Particularly he was interested in how they managed to iron a shirt with no creases or wrinkles. When he tried it at home it felt as if it was always a disaster. He went out of his way to discover the art of pressing an ordinary man's shirt.

The laundry where he had his shirts washed and starched and pressed had an employee standing close to the front window where the author could see him at work. Immediately he noticed that the ironing board was set up "wrong." As the laundryman stood by the board, the wider end of the board was to his left while the pointed smaller end was on his right. The first part of the shirt that he ironed was the collar. Then he went on to iron the yoke at the back of the shirt. Following the yoke, the man pressed the sleeves. When all of the smaller areas had been ironed, the laundry employee went on to iron the larger body of the shirt. The back of the shirt spread out across the wide portion of the board fit almost perfectly. The two sections of the front were just the right size. There was none of the struggling to pull the body of the shirt across the small pointed end of the board as the author usually did.

I think that from then on Muriel changed how she pressed Bob's shirts. I know that her story affected me although I must have been under ten years old. I still remember the story of the man who owned the Chinese laundry and how he ironed men's shirts.

I iron all of my husband's shirts following those rules. Not that they necessarily look perfect later, but it is a habit I would not alter. When I was in high school, I wore a uniform every day. The girls had to wear a shapeless gray skirt, a white blouse and a navy blue blazer. There were a lot of mornings when I pulled the shirt out of the laundry and zipped through it ironing only the cuffs, the collar and the front of the shirt. I always wore an Oxford shirt with a button down collar. And I always set up the board with the wide end on my left which for a right handed person is the business end.

Thanks Muriel and an unknown author for teaching me how to iron a shirt.

My dad was a farmer at heart. Every house we lived in had a place for a vegetable garden. Most of the houses we lived in were fixer-uppers. Until I was 14 years old and living on the south shore of Montreal, I don’t think we lived in a house where the bedrooms were heated. In the winter time, the single paned windows would be brushed by Jack Frost’s artistic hand. I can remember taking my thumb nail and pushing it across the window pane. A long curl of ice that had formed on the interior of the window would peel away from the glass.
Some mornings were so cold that I would dash out of bed and grab my clothes then take them back under the covers to dress in the warmth created by my body overnight. We always had flannel sheets and rough wool blankets to keep us warm. The flannel sheets had been washed and dried on the line in the winter cold so they were never soft or fluffy against my cheek. It made no difference though. I would pull the blankets up around my face and cover my ears so that I would be as warm as possible on those cold nights.
After more than fifty years, I still sleep at the bottom of the bed with the sheets and blankets pulled up over my ears. When I glance over at my husband who was born and raised in California, I wonder how he can sleep with the blankets leaving his neck and shoulders bare.
When I was 5 years old, we moved into a house in need of enormous amounts of work. It had no bathroom and only had a pump at the sink. I remember my mother sitting on the floor reading my father the directions as he assembled the plumbing and built a bathroom at the end of the large kitchen. Now when I think about it, I assume that he must have dug a huge hole for a septic tank as well. In any case, Dad and Mum were the ones who turned the small cottage in the country into an inhabitable house.
I know there were not enough bedrooms for all of the family. That first year I slept on a bunk bed that was set up in the kitchen. I have a clear memory of lying on the top bed and looking down upon my mother. She was making cinnamon rolls. She rolled out the dough and sprinkle sugar and ground cinnamon on the flat surface. Next came scattered raisins. Then the magical dough was rolled into a tight tube and cut into individual rolls. I have no memory of eating those rolls. I cherish only the wonderful feeling of being alone with my mother and watching her making this delicious treat.
The small house that we lived in was about a mile from the local elementary school. Grades one through eight were taught there. Four grades to a room. The small village of Lisle, Ontario lay close to one of the gates to Camp Borden where both of my parents worked. Dad was in the Royal Canadian Air Force and Mom worked as a typist for the Army.
One Sunday after attending a conference meeting for the Church, we slowly drove towards home in a snow storm. When we reached Lisle, Mom and Dad decided that they would park the car in a parking lot for a business in Lisle. They knew that the road to our house would not be plowed in the morning and that they would be unable to drive to work unless they left the car close to a road that would be cleared of the heavy snowfall.
We always had blankets in our trunk in case of a winter emergency. The six of us got out of the car and wrapped blankets around us for the long walk home. As a small girl the snow seemed so deep. It came up above the top of my boots. I can remember the snow falling and my eyelashes sticking together as if by glue. My face was so cold, but my small right hand nestled in my father’s large one was warm. I asked him how come his hand was warm when mine was so cold even with my mittens on. It was so stormy and cold. I have no memory of his answer. I only remember the safety and security I felt with my cold hand resting in the warm hand of my father.

Looking through the Fence

When I saw the picture of my granddaughter Lily looking through the fence, I immediately thought of this picture.  Unfortunately I do not have the original photograph to post.. This is picture of a painting done by Margaret Fisher Brooks.  Family oral history says that the toddler with the sagging diaper is Margaret or Margie.  The oldest child is a cousin. Arthur Grussendorf.  The small boy to his right is Muriel's oldest child Ted (James Edward Fisher).  He and Margaret were only 14 months apart in age.

Lily Katherine Neeves watching her father through the fence. Lily is the great granddaughter of Muriel. She is the daughter of Kimberly Anne Fry Neves who is the daughter of Katherine Elaine Fisher Fry.

Rationing

During World War II all of the nations at war were short of food and resources. Gasoline and metal were in such high demand. Even food items were rationed. England probably had more restrictions than any other Allied nation. However, rationing occurred in both Canada and the United States.

Last fall a friend told me about an incident in his life and his mother's during WW II. Ted Crowther grew up in Alexandria, Virginia. One day his mother noticed that the man delivering the local paper, the Washington Post, had new tires on his car. She asked him about the tires since the ones on her car were badly worn. Where did he get his tires? He explained to Mrs. Crowther that because he had a job with a high priority, he was able to get tires. She responded, "If there is ever an opening for delivering papers, would you let me know?"

Not long after that Ted's mother got a call saying that the Washington Post needed someone to deliver papers going south along the Potomac River. Her route took her past Mount Vernon and down to Fort Belvoir. Ted went with her on her drives to deliver papers. I assume that they always had suitable tires from then on.

At the end of their journey there were frequently military personal who hoped to catch a ride back towards Washington, D.C. with Ted and his mother. One day they picked up two Marines who climbed into the back seat. As they were driving along, one of them said to Mrs Crowther, "I'll just take that money box that is sitting next to you on the seat." Because it was war time both of the Marines had side arms. Ted told me that his mother did not hesitate. She pulled over to the side of the road and told the two soldiers to get out. She said, "I can read the names on your uniforms and I won't hesitate to report you." The two Marines quietly got out of the car and the Crowthers continued on their trip back to Alexandria.

There are always details that I wish I had asked more closely about in stories like this. For example, I have no idea how old Ted was. Preschool I assume. Did they ever pick up soldiers looking for a ride again?

There are so many questions that I wish that I could ask Muriel. I grew up hearing a few stories about Muriel's and Bob's wedding on November 19, 1942. I knew that everyone in their neighborhood saved their allotment of sugar so that Muriel's family could make a wedding cake. She had a beautiful soft flowing wedding gown. And her mother, Ruby, wore a black dress.

Even when I was a child black dresses were not the usual color for the mother of the bride to wear. In fact I can remember my father making jokes about the fact that my grandmother Ruby Harkness Toole was born on Hallowe'en and wore a black dress to their wedding. Of course, I chuckled along with everyone else in the family.

It was not until I was an older person that I realized that in a war stricken country, probably the only good dress that Grandma Toole owned was this one black dress. She wore the best that she had to celebrate the wedding of her dearly loved daughter.

There are a few benefits of age and experience. I love and appreciate my extended family more as the years go by.

Musings

When I started this blog about Muriel Isabel Toole, I imagined that other people would write about their memories of her. Much to my disappointment, that has not happened.

I have moments when I feel inspired to write something but suddenly realize that I am really thinking about something in my life.

I have not forgotten Muriel, but I do wish that some other person besides myself would contribute her or his memories.

This winter two new great grandchildren were born to Muriel and Bob and both of them have the middle name Isabel. Both of them were named after Muriel. Angelene had a baby girl in Idaho at the beginning of February and my daughter Kristi had a daughter on March 5th. Kristi's daughter is Gemma Isabel Furner and she lives with her family in Utah. This is a picture of Gemma when she was only a few days old.

Extraction Program

In 1978, LDS Church President Spencer W Kimball introduced the extraction program to members of the Church. President Kimball said: "(W)e are introducing a Church-wide program of extracting names from genealogical records. Church members may now render second-mile service through participating in this regard in extracting these names in this program supervised by the priesthood leaders at the local level, where you will receive further details."

Muriel became actively involved in the extraction program. As far as I can remember, she would look at reels of film in the Stake library and would record the names and information so that it would be readable for others looking for the information. She became very expert at reading and transcribing Swedish records. Probably she did extraction from other records, but I remember her talking about learning to read the archaic writing in the Swedish records. She also had enough command of the language to translate the information into English. Before she died in 1982, she became a worker in the temple in the Seattle area. Although she continued to work at the railroad company, she found time in her free time to serve in the temple.

Last March our bishop challenged our ward to become involved in the indexing program that has replaced the extraction program. I tenatively started working on the computer and learning how to read Scandinavian and Germanic names in unreadable handwriting. And fortunately some that is much easier to read such as this draft registration card. Currently cards are available from both New York and New Jersey.

No longer do people wishing to contribute to the work of Family Research need to go to a library. I can open my laptop computer wherever there is the internet available. Whether I am at home or traveling, it is convenient to spend a few minutes or an hour doing some indexing work for the Family Search website.

Today I received this email from the Family Search newsletter:

Good-bye to Family Record Extraction

This month’s newsletter is dedicated to the thousands of workers who participated in family record extraction since it was introduced by Spencer W. Kimball in 1978. Some extractors participated early in the program, transferring the information from paper or microfilm to printed forms. Later extractors typed the information directly into a computer program. The workforce continues to grow, and the use of technology continues to accelerate as we transition from family record extraction to the online FamilySearch indexing program.

FamilySearch is deeply grateful to all who were dedicated to making family record extraction so successful. Some workers have moved on, others have served faithfully for years, and some are newcomers. Regardless of experience or position, each participant labored to accomplish this great task of sharing family history information.

Over 100 groups, including six correctional facilities who devoted themselves to the extraction program, have now made the switch to FamilySearch indexing. We know this was not an easy change for some and we thank you for your patience and dedication to this extraction, and now indexing, initiative. If you or someone you know worked with the extraction program and need help to make this transition, please contact FamilySearch.

Sitting at the Front of the Bus

In September of 1966 Muriel and Bob and their two younger children moved to Columbus, Georgia. Bob took early retirement from the Royal Canadian Air Force and accepted a job as the seminary teacher and custodian of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints building in Columbus. Muriel was a smart and talented woman and it was a pretty good bet that she could find a pink-collar job wherever she went.

I was seventeen and in my last year of high school in a new school and a new city. There is no doubt that I was about as self-absorbed as most teenagers are, if not more so. I do remember Muriel/Mom telling us about a language challenge in her new job. She told her boss, "When I answer the telephone, I cannot tell if the caller is saying that she is Mrs or Miss Soandso." Her boss didn't hesitate. He told her to go ahead and just write a note that Ms Soandso had called. In 1966 Ms was not in common use. We all laughed at his answer probably not realizing that shortly his solution would become a banner word of the growing woman's movement.

I don't remember ever wondering how Muriel got to and from work every day. We owned one car. A small VW beetle. Recently my brother John came to visit and he mentioned that Muriel had ridden the bus to work every day. She sat in the front of the bus and was the only white person on the Columbus, Georgia bus.

We had just moved from the Montreal area where traveling by bus was part of every day life for most people. The only practical way to go from The South Shore where we lived to the the island of Montreal was by bus. Today the subway and bus system are crowded with commuters in Montreal. The subway system stops in Longueuil on the south shore of the St Lawrence and from there you hop on the bus to travel further. Big city traffic is so often snarled that public transportation is an asset.

However, in Columbus it apparently was the transportation of only the Black population. I can easily see my 'mum' sitting at the front of the bus being carefully watched by the dark eyes behind her. John commented that she always sat at the front. I assured him that was where any sensible female traveling alone would sit. That is where I sit if I can when I am alone - close to the bus driver. It had nothing to do with being white in the south where Muriel was concerned.

As I learn more about Muriel, my admiration grows. What an incredible woman she was. How fortunate I am to have been her daughter.

Chinese Food

When Muriel was about thirty she went to work for a sales company. She had four young children and was looking for ways so supplement the family income. At one time she demonstrated the use of a sewing machine in the homes of new owners. Another job was selling stainless steel cookware, Rena Ware. At that time the big selling point was that it was 'waterless' cookware. You could cook your vegetables with a lot less water than most pans on the market and thereby retain the vitamins instead of boiling them away.

As her youngest child, I have memories of going with her when she demonstrated the sewing machine. However, the pots and pans are only the stuff of stories brought home by Mom.

On one occasion Muriel drove to Toronto for a sales meeting with other people marketing Rena Ware. Although I was very young, I had the impression that the group consisted of men, most of whom had served on missions for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Now that I am older, I can easily visualize a group of returned missionaries who were looking for a way to put their door-to-door experiences from the mission field into a means of supporting themselves and their young families.

The group went out to lunch at a Chinese restaurant. I am not sure if the Asian food was a new experience for Muriel, but she readily related a story about being the center of jokes. The other salespeople tried to persuade her that the unique spoon that came with the soup was not used in the traditional way. Instead of drinking out of the bowl, you filled it up and then drank the soup from the small grove in the handle.

Muriel's account of the lunch brought vivid pictures to my mind and still today I can easily imagine her being gently teased by this eager group of young men. I recall being so concerned about her as she told the story. I didn't want her to do anything that would embarrass her or make her look foolish. I didn't realize at the grand old age of five years, that Muriel could carry most situations off with grace and could laugh at herself.

History or Legends

Tomorrow morning Eldon and Diana Neves are going to fly to Africa to serve on a mission for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. They will be serving in Sierra Leon. It will be a very different world from their ranch in Utah. Eldon is the other grandfather of my tiny granddaughter Lily Katherine Neves. Eldon usually wears boots, a hat for shade and a graying moustache. Lily has adored her grandpa and his moustache. He would get down on the floor to talk to her and she would immediately reach out to touch his moustache.

A week ago he shaved his moustache off, in preparation for serving as a missionary. The first time that Lily saw him she was a little frightened because she did not know who he was. Even after seeing him several times without his facial hair, she still reached out looking for his moustache today when she said good-bye.

My little granddaughter's attachment to her other grandfather reminded me of a story that Muriel/Mom used to tell about her grandfather Will Harkness. Will was a tall handsome man who served for awhile as a sheriff. He reminds me a lot of Eldon Neves.
If I remember the story correctly, Will Harkness had lots of brown hair but as sometimes occurs he had a contrasting moustache. One day Will decided that he was going to have his red moustache dyed brown to match his hair. When he got home from the barbershop with his brown moustache, instead of running to meet their dad, his children fled in terror. They cried and wanted to know where their real father was. The next day Will returned to the barbershop to have his facial hair returned to its original color.

Several years ago, I had a chance to visit with Muriel's brother Archie. He was the last surviving sibling of her family. Since it had been years since Mom had told me about the moustache, I asked him about his memories and he told me he didn't recognize the story. I have a feeling though that my vague memory of this story of Will Harkness is true. His tiny dark haired wife always said that he was the most handsome man in the world.

Muriel's Memories

While visiting Margaret Brooks recently, I got a copy of Muriel's Memories. The memories consist of five handwritten pages in Muriel's writing. The pages are of memories from her childhood and are so vivid that I have no trouble visualizing her and her family. Unfortunately the last page must have been on a larger page because portions of the sentences on the right and left are missing. The following is my typed copy of the first four pages of her remembrances:


Muriel's Memories

I'm not certain whether some of the early recollections of my childhood come from remembering or from talking about them with other members of the family. I remember there was a trapdoor into the basement in our house on Elm Street – there was also a china doorknob on the bathroom door.
I can remember visiting Uncle Frank when we lived in the house Ruby and Bob Barfus now live in. He worked in the mill and they were very well off. Doug had s many toys and Uncle Frank had a crystal set everyone was excited about. You listened through earphones.
Uncle Frank had some racing dogs which he used to pull us home on the toboggan.
Verna Tool had a beautiful doll that I fell in love with. She had received it for Christmas. Uncle Ted let me take it home since I didn't want to part with it. Mother and Dad spirited it away while I slept and returned it to Verna.
Hazel can tell more about our move to the hill since she was in charge of Margaret and I. I remember how exciting it was as the house hadn't been cleaned very well and there were so many interesting things left behind – picture developing powder that exploded.
Mother and Dad bought the cows when we lived in the house next door. I believe they bought them down from Tilley. I well remember one of the cows had long horns as she bunted me and tossed me in the air. I was given a re mule's calf we called Pud. I remember a birthday party the folks gave me – I believe my sixth – Bud was invited, we had jello and I received a top you started with a string. It was my job to wash the dishes. I didn't wash the bowls or kettles so had to boil more water and start over. When pouring the boiling water into the dish pan, everything tipped over. I cut and scalded my foot. I remember crying for a doctor while mother and dad saw to my injuries. I was 5 or 6 at the time.
We couldn't move out of the house next door fast enough as it was infested with bed bugs. On hot nights we'd move out of our beds and sleep anywhere – on the grand piano – on the landing. I used to walk in my sleep. I always slept with Hazel – she said I got up on the narrow foot railing but woke up when I stepped on the cold vent in the bathroom.
When we moved to the hill, there weren't any fences so the older children would have to herd the cattle and babysit Margaret and I. Hazel would read to us under a gunny sack shade that was made by propping sticks. We had one horse that would always lie down in whatever water we came to - slough or creek. As children to mount the horse, we'd have to walk miles to find anything to stand on. We had a little black horse “Tiny” that we could do anything with – crawl under her belly etc. We also had a horse “Doll” that pulled a 2 wheel cart. One day out on the prairie where they were cutting sod – I found some spoons and pretty containers so decided to bring them home. The rattle of the containers spooked the horse and she started running and didn't stop until she lost one of the wheels turning into the barnyard.
One of the scary times was when Hazel got kicked in the eye by the horse. Hazel always read to us. We had an old kerosene lamp off a car that we'd light so she could read after the light was turned off.
We four girls slept in the room Margaret still has. Marg and I would play cutouts with paper dolls from the catalogue. We also played with colored marbles – the dolls were the children. Everyone had to pick their way across the room since we had the floor marked off in the room in houses etc.
One of my nicest memories is of the warm comfortable feeling I had when my father carried me to bed. We had one of the first radios on the hill so Grandma, Grandpa, and Bud would come over to hear the Chicago barn dance. A bed was made on the dining room table for Bud, Marg and I to sleep on. At first we didn't have any furniture in the dining room and living room. Then when Mother and Dad had enough money to pay cash they bought a dining room suite and a chesterfield suite. Our evenings centered around these two rooms as we did homework and listened to the radio at the same time.
I remember I was visiting Lavoys when the backroom was built on. It must have been in the process of being built for sometime but I remember how I suddenly realized how much had been accomplished when Lavoys brought me home early because I was homesick.
Another warm memory is of mother singing to us while she cooked especially at Christmas time making the cake and her date filled oatmeal cookies. We'd coax her to sing “The Letter Edged in Black.” the three “friskies” promising we wouldn't cry. We always cried. I also remember borrowing books from the library and reading to mother while she sewed.
Dad had a beautiful singing voice but most of his singing was done while milking the cows. He used to wake Marg and I with “the bell she blows – the whistle she go by” “oh how I'd hate to go to school today.”
We always won the prize for being the first shipper to the dairy on Christmas Day – Marg and I got the family up at 3 a.m. It seemed like forever until we could go to Grandma's to see what Santa had brought Toots, Len, Jim and Bud.
I remember Grandpa Toole coming home from the movies and telling mother the show – acting out the parts – while mother ironed clothes. I always went over to Grandma and Grandpa's on my birthdays and would stand shyly at the door waiting to tell Grandpa it was my birthday. He'd give me a dime – then I'd run home. When Len and Jim were courting and brought Verna and Mabel home, I stood at the door – they'd give me a piece of cake and I'd dash home to share it with Margaret.
Marg and I were together all the way through school except in grade 8 when they decided to separate us. Oh how I cried. That was the only year we had a girl friend – besides each other.
Other beautiful memories are of Momma rocking me when I was sick or had earache. I remember having earache and having a hot iron wrapped and put under my pillow. She also rocked Margie and sang to her. As a wee tiny girl Marg would fall asleep with her hands at Mother's neckline.
There are memories of Margie leading me to school in the winter as my glasses would frost over with having a scarf pulled up over my mouth and nose. Of sticking my tongue on the rail of the Dunmore Hill creek bridge. Of freezing my nose, morning, noon, and night until it was a little red ball. Of sliding down snow drifts until our clothes were wet then sneaking home and changing clear to our long underwear and hoping Momma wouldn't find out so we'd be spanked. How in the spring we'd chase minnows in the creek by tucking our dresses in our matching panties driving the minnows into the sacks the boys held. We filled the water trough and every jar we could find with pollywogs and minnows. Then the folks would have to clean the water trough.
How wonderful it was to get out of those long underwear come spring. Oh the bumps the folds make under our lisle stockings when we had to fold the legs to make them fit tight.
Remember the time I won the money at the carnival - $50.00. Marg and I each got a new blue cardigan and the folks bought a box of apples.
We'd like it when Mom went to town – she'd always bring home a treat. Maybe she'd go once or twice a year – an occasion. Dad took the milk to the dairy...and bought lots … used to keep the walnuts, coconut etc locked up in the drawer of the bureau – we'd sneak it and eat it then there wouldn't be anything when baking time came.

Photographs of Muriel and Margaret Toole

As far as I know, these photographs were taken about 1941 or 1942.