Marjorie Williams Horton

Marjorie Williams Horton

For the first two years of my life, I lived in Rhode Island. My father had come from Adams, New York. My grandfather, my mother’s father, had a farm in Slatersville, Rhode Island, with a meat market and an office at the end of the barn, and a big, lovely house. I was born in Slatersville. We lived with our grandparents in a section of the house. My grandfather was a gentleman farmer. He had lots of property, almost up to Pascoag. He had cows and horses.

My sister, Athleen, had been born five years before me. One summer she went to camp and she was nicknamed Billie, from our family name, Williams. After that she was known as Billie for the rest of her life.

My father’s family name was Williams, and my mother’s maiden name was Turner. (Her father’s name was Solon Thompson Turner.) We didn’t have middle names because our names were so long. My mother always told me that since we were girls, we couldn’t carry on our father’s name, but in order to honor him, we could use Williams as our middle name when we married. That’s a bit of etiquette that girls should know, but many don’t.

We didn’t visit my Grandmother Williams often, although we’d talk on the phone and write letters. That was too much of a trip. We didn’t do much traveling in those days. I was 18 before I visited Boston for the first time. When we did travel, we’d take lunch along and find a piece of land where we’d sit down on a blanket and eat our sandwiches. Of course, we’d bring a Thermos, too. We’d have at least one flat tire on a trip like that. Sometimes we’d visit relatives in the Putnam, Connecticut area.

When I was two, my grandparent’s house burned. It burned to the ground. We sat on the back of a wagon with a blanket over us and watched it. It was in the night. All the books and records that we had afterwards were given to us by friends. My mother was quite a horse lady and had beautiful harnesses and other items that were kept in the house. They were all lost in the fire, including her diamond ring. It was a very tragic thing. My father had been a Chevrolet salesman in Woonsocket. After the fire, he was hired to work at Draper Corporation and we moved to Hopedale, where I’ve been since age two.

There was electricity in Bancroft Park when we moved there. The light fixtures had originally been made for gas lights. We didn’t have an electric refrigerator. We had an icebox. We heated the house with coal and wood, and the heat came up through a big register in the floor. The coal was carried in sacks and poured down a chute to the coal bin in the cellar. Wood would be dropped by the bulkhead and we’d take it in. Coal, wood, and ice were all brought to us by horse-drawn wagons. When the ice wagon was on the street, we’d go out and ask the man for chips of ice to chew on. We’d put a card in the front window if we wanted a delivery of ice, and we’d put a card with a big C when we wanted the Cushman’s Bakery man to stop.  We’d also get deliveries of groceries. Mead’s Market was the most beautiful place. It was in the town hall, down below, on the Depot Street side. The quality of the goods that they sold was exceptionally fine. We could call them on the phone and put in an order. They delivered to the homes. Mr. Sneiderman would come by collecting rags. They had a store near the top of Freedom Street. Later they operated a dry cleaning business there.

I went to kindergarten in the Chapel Street School. My teacher was Mrs. Draper (not related to the “company Drapers”), and I loved her dearly. I went from first to fourth grade in the Park Street School and fifth through eighth at the Dutcher Street School.

I had a thing about wheels and motion. Whatever I could find to ride or get on, I did. I’d ask to borrow boys’ bikes. I didn’t like girls’ bikes. Because of the sprocket, there wasn’t enough power. I learned to ride on the outside because I couldn’t reach the pedals. I’d push it along like a scooter. I’d had a wonderful scooter, but it was stolen from our backyard. In those days if you didn’t put things away, that would happen. I mostly just liked to just play outside. I’d walk on my hands, stand on my head; do all kinds of crazy things instead of sitting and painting my nails. That came later. Much later.

My parents wanted to give me a girls’ bike, but I didn’t want that. On the farm, I found four pieces of wood and I had one of the hands cut them and make a frame out of them. In the Sears Roebuck catalog I had found a picture of a red bicycle which I wanted. I cut it out andput it in the frame. (I had painted the frame red.)  I gave it to my grandfather. It took a lot of doing, but at Christmas there it was — my red bike . . My friends loved to kid me about that. I‘d take the bike in every night and put it in a space we had under the staircase. I’d clean it every night – all the spokes, the frame, the rims, everything, before I put it away. I took good care of that bike. Boy, did that bike cruise. Some of my girlfriends wanted to use it on hills, and I’d let them because they could get up the hills better.

When we’d go somewhere in the car, I hated to get to where we were going. Most kids would say, “When are we going to get there?” I’d say, “Oh, we’re here?” I just liked the ride; not the destination. My mother was a great driver of horses, but she didn’t like driving a car. She didn’t get her license until after my father died. I couldn’t wait to get my license. I received it the day I turned sixteen, and I drove to Rhode Island all alone to visit my grandparents that same day. I felt so proud to think I could do that. My mother was happy to have me drive her anywhere she wanted to go. I’d take care of keeping water in the radiator, and I’d make sure the tires were inflated. I could change a tire, and in those days when flats were very common, I’d do that often. I kept the car cleaned and polished. I used to put snow chains on, also.

Whatever the season was, I was out doing something. I loved skating. Roller skating or ice skating. I’d skate on any little pond I could find. First I had the skates that you’d clamp on to your shoes. Then I had shoe skates, and later I had figure skates. I’d skate until the town bell rang and I had to be home. After I was married, when the pond wasn’t safe I’d get into the car and drive around looking for little ponds to skate on.

I loved skiing. My father put a nail into the end of a pole, painted it black, and that was my ski pole. I wanted to be outside when there was snow on the ground, much to my mother’s dismay. In later years we had a club to support activities at the ski hill. It was called the “Comet Ski Club.” We collected dues to pay for the little things needed now and then. We had many enjoyable hours on that hill.

I spent most of my early summers on my grandfather’s farm, haying.  There was a girl in a nearby town  I’d visit now and then. Her father had a very lucrative lumber business. The family had a big house where I’d visit once in a while, but I mostly wanted to stay on the farm.

The three Hanley boys lived next door to me. Their mother was very doting, and would sit in the window to watch them when they were out. Most mothers at that time didn’t drive, so they didn’t have the means of going far beyond the house.

Christmas was always lovely. Everything was decorated. There was a lot of cooking, of course, just like you’d hear about in old-time Christmases. We’d have our grandparents with us. We celebrated it well. When my dad was alive, our biggest present would be on the end of a string. One end was attached to the end of our bed, and we’d follow it until we arrived at the end, and our present. It would go down the stairs and it might go to the cellar and back up. At the end was our best present. For me, it might be skates – roller skates or ice skates. I’d roller skate all around Bancroft Park. I had some fancy ones with rubber tires that I had begged for.  When I heard a car coming, I’d hurry to the sidewalk in case it was the police. I always kept them in mind when I was out performing in the street. There weren’t many cars on the road then.

I didn’t do much with dolls, but I did have one favorite. I’d play with paper dolls a bit, but I was too busy with athletics to spend much time with dolls. I’d get a good book for Christmas sometimes. I should have done more reading than I did. When I had chicken pox, whooping cough, and other childhood diseases, my mother had this crazy idea that I couldn’t go to the library. I thought that was terrible.

Once when I was in Miss Cressey’s class, my friend Priscilla and I had volunteered to stay after school to clean the blackboards and erasers.  When we finished, I rushed down the stairs and out the door, ahead of Priscilla. I assumed she was right behind me, and wanting to play a little trick on her, I grabbed the doorknob and pulled on it so that the door wouldn’t open. After a while, I opened the door and I was shocked to see that it wasn’t Priscilla, but Miss Cressey who was on the other side. Whooo! I think I’m still in shock. I don’t recall what she said or did, but it wasn’t anything startling. She liked me.

The biggest event for the whole town in the summer was the Draper field day. The night before, movies would be shown on the back wall of the Main Office. We decorated doll carriages. My sister even competed in the high jump. There’d be a baseball game. Baseball was very well thought of way back in the early years of the park. It was considered quite an accomplishment if you were selected to be on a baseball team. There were all kinds of track events and potato sack races and all of the usual field day activities.

They made good use of the town park in the summertime. The tennis courts and the baseball diamond were very well cared for. No cars were allowed in the park. None. Playing tennis on Sundays was forbidden.

I never had the opportunity to take lessons in tennis and other sports, so I had to copy from people who were good at them. I played field hockey, tennis and basketball. I was kind of short for basketball, but I could jump. I’d grown some pretty strong muscles for a girl, down on the farm. I wasn’t all that crazy about swimming, and the reason was that I hated to get my hair wet, because it wasn’t curly. I did take lessons, up through junior life saving, but stopped there. My mother had insisted that I take lessons at least that far.

I lost my father at age twelve, so I didn’t have him to pal around with. My sister was a lady. She was attached to Carleton Goff from about the age of fourteen, on through. I was kind of in her way until we got older, and then we were very close.

On radio there were westerns and mysteries. Tom Mix is one that I remember. We’d go to the movies at the State Theater in Milford. I think it cost about ten cents for a show. The Ideal Theater was further down Main Street, but we didn’t venture that far for a movie. We liked the looks of the State Theater better. I might have found a ride over there now and then, but most of the time we’d walk. I remember going to Milford by trolley a couple of times when I was with my mother to buy clothes. Later there was a bus service we could take to Milford. The bus went around Bancroft Park to pick up passengers. When television came along, we’d often gather at the house of a neighbor who had one. There was a lot of boxing featured on television in those days.

There were parties, dances and musical events at the Community House. The dances were wonderful. All the kids, even up through marriage age, would be there. In my dating years, about 17 through 19, we’d go to wonderful dances in Worcester. The school prize speaking contests were at the town hall. Graduations were held there, too.

One thing that I remember is the time I jumped off of the Hope Street Bridge. I don’t remember why I did it. I had always loved to jump. There were lots of railroad sidings that went under the bridge, and often boxcars would be parked on them. It kept annoying me that the top of the train was often so close to the bottom of the bridge. I thought I’d like to try jumping down onto one. Just some little quirk in my head said, “Why don’t you try it?” So I looked things over, and I held on by my hands so that my feet wouldn’t be too far from the top of the train when I let go. It didn’t take much of a jump, but then I thought, “Oh, dear, if somebody sees me!”  I liked to go up and down ladders. Heights didn’t bother me. I climbed down the ladder on the side of the boxcar. Priscilla Woodhead was usually my cohort, but I don’t think she was with me that day. So I was the only one down there with those trains and I had to get up to where people were. I can remember being a little frightened over that. I was thinking, “I guess I won’t do that again.”

During my high school years, I decided I’d rather be a girl than a boy. In the beginning I thought I’d rather do boyish things to help my father. They’d had a boy who’d died as a baby. Then they had my sister, and then me. I figured they sure as heck wanted a boy, and I did my darndest to be one for a little while. Then all of a sudden, when I reached my teens I thought, oh, this doesn’t feel right. I decided I’d rather be a girl. Thank the Lord!

I remember a number of super guys who were killed in World War II, including Robinson Billings,  Donald Midgley,  Francis Wallace and Leverett Clark. They were considered to be the fair-haired boys of Hopedale. There were another eleven from town who were killed, and who were just as wonderful, but those four are the ones I knew.

On Sundays in the winter, we’d go to church and then we’d stop at somebody’s house for a toddy. Sometimes it would be at our house, sometimes Willard Taft’s house, and sometimes Jean and Woody Biggs’s house. We’d go into the attic and look for old clothes to put on. We‘d dress as foolish as we could. We had great fun. Then we’d go to the ski hill