Our children were now nearly all grown and old enough to need to attend a better school than could be had in the country, so we thought it best for us to move to Granville for a time, and send Oliver, Emily and Martha Ellen to the Seminary and leave Tom in charge of the farm; so early in September of 1870, we moved to Granville. I had lived on a farm so long that it was hard for me to live economically, as the people in town had to do. I well remember the first time I had to buy milk. I took my large pitcher and went across the street to Mrs. Belford’s and asked her where she bought her milk. She said, “I get it of a milk man. He will be along soon—just sit down awhile.” Mrs. Belford and family were old friends of ours. They had moved from Bowling Green three years before. She laughed and said, “Why, did you bring that large pitched? How much milk do you expect to get?” “Well,” I said, “I think, perhaps, we can get along with a gallon.” She said, “Why, your milk bill will amount to quite a sum if you buy a gallon each day at six cents per quart.” “Oh!” I said, “I do not see how we can do with less!” But soon the man came and I marched out with my pitcher, and asked if he could let me have milk. He stared at the pitcher and asked how much I wanted. I said, “A gallon.” “Oh!” he said, “I can’t spare one drop more than a pint, and can hardly let you have that.” He poured it into the pitcher, and I went home fairly beaten on the milk business. But I was delighted with Granville. The change from the farm to town, even if it was a small one, was heaven to me. I had nice neighbors—Dr. Gifford on one side, and Judge Abbott on the other. Mrs. Gifford was of a sad, gloomy nature, always fretting and worrying about something, and looking on the dark side of everything. Mrs. Abbott was just the reverse, so I called them “Sunshine” and “Sorrow;” but they were both very kind and good to us, as were all the people, and we very much enjoyed living there. We took our church letters and joined our own church, of course. Rev. A. H. Windsor was the pastor of the Methodist Episcopal church at that time, and was the pastor as long as we lived there. The ladies of the Presbyterian church were just as nice to us as the Methodists were. Mrs. Merryman and others were very kind.
When we had lived in Granville a short time on the 6th of December, Tom took to himself a wife, Miss Cynthia Stump, of near Nashport. She was a sister to Mrs. Charles Montgomery. They went to house-keeping at once on the farm in our old home and they lived there as long as we remained in Granville.
We enjoyed living so near Mrs. Belford. We went back and forth nearly every day. Mr. Belford was a very pleasant, kind-hearted man. They had three sons and two daughters. They were a lovely family. Little Maggie, as she was called, was a playmate for Cora. They loved each other very much. Mr. Belford has since died—Maggie also but Mrs. Belford still lives there. Her daughter: Clara, was married to a Mr. Robinson, and they also live there with her mother.
We lived in Granville nearly two years and a half, when my husband said that we must go back to the farm, as Tom was going down to live on a farm of his wife’s father, Mr. Jas. Stump. The old gentleman was getting tired of farming and did not want the care of it; so we packed up our goods, and the men came with the teams from the farm and loaded on the things, and off they went. I, with Cora, rode in our buggy. I took a farewell look at the little town, and went through all the rooms in the house, and bade it all a tearful good-bye, and got in the buggy and drove slowly away. Mrs. Brady, who lived on the place, had the house all cleaned and ready, and all we had to do was to tack down the carpets, and set the things in their old accustomed places, and go to work as if we had never been away.
On April 23d, 1873, my youngest son, Oliver, married Amy Ewing, of Granville. A log house was built down near the road, and there they went to house-keeping. They lived about a quarter of a mile from us, and it seemed nice to have them near, and I soon became reconciled to my old home, and everything went on all right. We had many good times on the farm. We had very many good kind friends who came to visit us. Some were from Granville, others from Newark, and the preachers came for their dinner on Sunday, as usual. Many of the chickens lost their lives on account of it. It did seem nice to have all the milk and cream we wanted and everything without stint. I remember one day an old gypsy came. She wanted a loaf of bread and some coffee. They were camping down by the creek. She had no money but would tell my fortune. I did not believe in fortune-telling, but I had to let her have the bread, so I thought I might as well have something for it as not, so let her tell it. She said I would not spend all my days on that farm, but would have things more to my mind than I had ever had them. She told me a lot more stuff, but I forgot all the rest; but one thing I did not forget. I determined to go into the stock business when my father died. He left the home-farm to my mother while she lived, and after her death it was sold and I received my share of it; but my husband used it to buy stock and whatever he wished. I saw there was money in raising stock, so I began with two pet lambs. They grew to be fine sheep. I sold the wool and afterwards the sheep for a good price. I then bought nine young pigs, and in due time sold them and I did real well, as I had part of the pay in a twenty-dollar gold piece. Soon after that gold went up to double its value, and I took my gold piece to the bank and received for it forty dollars. I then bought some young steers and so went on. My son Tom helped me all the while in buying and selling, and the good Lord prospered me in everything. Then a man on the farm had put in a small field of wheat, and early in the spring he wanted to go West. He was very anxious to sell the field of wheat, as our land was more adapted to corn. He had put it in on the shares. He did not expect a very large crop, so offered it for forty dollars, cash down. I happened to have it, so bought the wheat. In a little while I offered to sell it to our boys for what I had paid for it, but they would not buy it as they thought there was no money in it. But when harvest drew near they wanted it. They said it would be lots of bother to me to get it cut and threshed, etc., but I said no, I will keep it now—make or lose—and I shall never for get the day they threshed that wheat—never had wheat turned out like that. Some one would come to the house every little while and tell me it was wonderful the way that wheat was turning out. After it was all done and sold and everything paid for, I found I had cleared quite a good sum. This enabled me to increase my stock some.
The next summer was the Centennial held in Philadelphia. About the first week in October Mr. Charles Montgomery, wife and daughter Anna and my son and wife were going to attend it. Thomas took me along, paid all my expenses, which was exceedingly kind, and was the greatest treat of my life. I enjoyed it above any pleasure I had ever had. How many times I have lived it over, and delighted in thinking about it.
In less than two weeks after I returned home my daughter, Emily Clarin, was married to Levi Montgomery, son of Charles Montgomery, October 18th, 1876. Now they were all gone, except Cora. We still had Miriam Hutchinson, who had lived with us nearly two years. She was a nice girl; was company for Cora and me both, and she helped me to get along with the work. She remained with me another year, and we thought a great deal of her. She was always faithful and kind; was cheerful and full of life, and the years went by very pleasantly. Miriam was afterwards married to Mr. Norpell, a very respectable, nice man, and she is a good, noble wife, and mother of several children.
In a short time Tom rented all the farm and took charge of everything; and as my husband felt that he would like to retire from work and live the remainder of his life without so much care, after a time we began to look for a home in the town of Newark. The one great desire of my heart was to get as near the good, old Methodist Episcopal church as possible, near enough to walk there. I had not been to church or anywhere else for years without having to ride, and I was thoroughly tired of it. I thought it would be nice to walk on the clean pavement and not be troubled with a horse and buggy. After a time I found a place at No. 145 Locust street, where I still live. I bought it, paid the cash down for it—all my own money—and have always liked it. How I did work to get ready to move! I cut rags enough to make eighty-five yards of carpet, but it was as nothing because my heart was in it. A young girl who had lived with us two years, Anna Craney, by name, from Shawnee, came with me and we cleaned the house all over. The man on the farm hauled up a stove and a bed and bedstead, and such things as we needed, and we stayed until we got every thing ready so we could move. Mr. O’Bannon came and tacked down the carpets, but just when we were ready to move my husband’s brother Presley died. He had been very sick for some weeks, but we did not think he was going to die so soon. Of course, we had to put off moving for a week. Then the men from the farm got the teams and brought up all our goods, and we were soon fixed up and settled. Mr. O’Bannon and Cora went down in our spring-wagon to get the last load, which was canned fruits and a few things that had to be brought carefully. They loaded the things all in and started back to town, but when they came to the railroad, near Stadden’s bridge, they looked down the railroad and saw the cars coming quite a distance off. They crossed the track in safety and drove upon the canal bridge and looked back and Mr. and Mrs. Winters were in a large farm wagon, with two horses. They tried to cross, but the cars struck the wagon, and they were both thrown away up many feet and both came down on their faces dead. The horses also were killed. Mr. O’Bannon and Cora both saw it all. It was a dreadful shock. It was very sad, indeed. The two old people had lived together many years, and in death they were not divided. They were good people, kind neighbors. We had known them many years. They had sons and daughters who were all, I believe, respectable and good.
The first Sunday we were in Newark we went to church, and Rev. O. J. Nave preached his farewell sermon, The next Sunday the preachers had all gone to conference, and Rev. John T. Miller was sent as pastor to the Methodist Episcopal church. Soon after we sent for our letters and handed them into the church—Rev. James Hill was presiding elder. We moved here to Newark just ten years from the time we left the farm to move to Granville. It was now the year 1880. Soon after conference, Brother Hill came to hold the quarterly meeting. I had met him in Columbus, so was acquainted with him and was glad to see him. As I felt rather strange, not knowing scarcely anyone in that church, I remember I thought I would invite him to go to our house to remain over the Sabbath. This was Saturday evening. When service was over I waited for an opportunity to speak with him. As so many were going forward to shake hands with him. I supposed, of course, that everyone had invited him to go and stop with them, as that was the way we did in the country, so I felt sure there would be no chance for me; but at last I ventured up to him, and said “Brother Hill, I did so want to entertain you over the Sabbath, but you have had so many invitations before mine; I did not like to rush up to you first because I am a stranger here.” He said, “Well, sister, I have not received one, so I will most gladly go with you.” After that he always stopped with us when he came to Newark to hold a quarterly meeting, and we were always glad to have him.
I felt sad at the thought of leaving the church in the country where I had belonged for about thirty years; but Mrs. Ewan was here—I had known her from a child. She was the daughter of Gideon Wickham, who had moved here from Bowling Green, We had attended church together there for a number of years. Then Mrs. Roberts lived on our street a few doors east of us. She and I had met some years before: These were both widow ladies when I came here. Of course, they took me right into their friendship. Then I went into the Sunday School and attended prayer meeting, and by so doing I could not fail to get acquainted with all the best people in the church; and I will say I never found a more friendly set of people anywhere than in the First Methodist Episcopal church of Newark; and from that day to this I have never lacked for friends who are ready to stand by me under all circumstances. Some years after I became acquainted with Mrs. M. R. Scott, and she is one of my best and dearest friends.
Brother Miller was our pastor for three years. I liked him better each year, and was sorry to see him leave.
The Woman’s Foreign Missionary Society was organized here in the First Methodist Episcopal church, November 27th, 1872. The first meeting was held in the parlors of the church. The officers elected were as follows: President—Mrs. H. B. Smith, Recording Secretary—Mrs. Virginia May, Corresponding Secretary—Mrs. E. I. Jones, Treasurer—Miss Maria Vanatta.
Very soon after coming to Newark I became a member of this organization, and enjoyed it very much. The ladies worked in it as if their whole hearts were in it, and I soon became as much interested as they were, and worked with them with all my might. Mrs. Anna Howell, oldest of all the members of this society, has in her quiet way given many years of untiring service to the church, and is deserving of the high esteem in which she is held by all. After I had been a member a number of years, I was elected president, and served in that capacity seven years as best I knew. Then Mrs. King took my place and served for several years. And now Mrs. Hoagland is president. She has been a faithful worker in this organization almost from its beginning.
The first winter I was here they had a protracted meeting at Bowling Green. It was held by an evangelist whose name was Rev. R. E. Hudson. He was a fine singer and an interesting speaker. I had a good horse and sleigh, and there was plenty of snow, so I used to take Mrs. Ewan, and we would drive down everyday and attend the meetings. We enjoyed them very much and received great benefit from Rev. Hudson’s talks, which I can never forget. Rev. R. A. Lemaster was the pastor at that time at Bowling Green. They were both good earnest Christian men, and they were a great help to me in my Christian life. Rev. Hudson has since gone to be with Jesus. Brother Lemaster is doing good work for God and His cause somewhere in the West.
But the good times with Mrs. Ewan did not last long, for in a year or two she got married to Mr. John Fyfe, who, at that time, kept a shoe-store here in town, and before long they moved out West to Iowa. My daughter Margaret came home on a visit. Mrs. Fyfe came to see her several times and they talked about the West and she soon made up her mind to go back with Margaret and see for herself. My daughter Emily and also Emma Montgomery concluded to go along. They all got ready and started. They were a jolly crowd. They each prepared and filled a basket with lunch. I heard them tell about the journey. They said there was a woman on the cars with several children—one a babe. They had traveled quite a distance and the poor mother was tired out, and so were the children. Of course, they fretted and cried. Emily soon went to their assistance. She had a tin teapot and plenty of tea in her basket. She filled it with water and put in on the stove to boil, and she made a pot full of good strong tea and gave to the woman. She then gave the children something to eat, and fixed them comfortable on the seats, and they were soon sound asleep. She also got the babe to sleep, and the woman drank freely of the tea. It was great fun for the rest to see Emily taking charge of the family on the cars; but the woman seemed very grateful, and said she did not know how she could have endured the night if it had not been for that pot of tea and Emily’s help. “When they arrived in Brooklyn Mrs. Fyfe looked about to see if there was any good business Mr. Fyfe could go into. My son-in-law, L. M. Bennett, introduced her to Mr. Dorence, who had a store and wanted to sell out and go into the banking business. She bought out the store and rented a house close to Mr. Bennett’s and came right back. Mr. Fyfe sold out his store in Newark and all his household goods, and they moved to Brooklyn. They lived there a few years, and then moved to Des Moines, Ia., and he went into the real estate business. Mrs. Fyfe built a very nice house on Ninth street. They lived there a short time when she sold the house and cleared about a thousand dollars on it. The man took her carpets and some other things. She then built another house, lived in it awhile and sold it and made quite a sum on that. She also bought a house or two which she rented. Her son Frank was married to a splendid girl, and he was converted and became a minister, and some years after her daughter Minnie married a Mr. Davies, of California, a millionaire. He is a very pleasant, kind-hearted man—a model husband, and Minnie makes him a splendid wife. I had the pleasure of visiting at their lovely home five weeks, and it was a pleasant place to be. They were so lovely to each other and to me. It is one of the brightest spots in my life. I always enjoy thinking about my visits with them and with Mr. and Mrs. Fyfe. They all live in Topeka, Kas. Mrs. Fyfe is still building houses. She has a lovely home, and I have, no doubt, but that she will sell it if she gets a good offer, then she will build another.
But I must go back to my home in Newark. I missed Mrs. Fyfe very much after she left for Iowa but I still had Mrs. Roberts for my bosom friend. We walked to church together and to Sunday School, and saw each other every day, and I thought it would always be that way; but alas! you never can tell what people will do. Brother Hill had to go and fall in love with her. He married her and carried her off to Chicago. They were married at the Methodist Episcopal church at noon by our pastor, Rev. John T. Miller. Her daughter Etta, myself and daughter Emily Montgomery, met them at the church. After the ceremony was performed we all got into the carriage and came up to our house, and I had the pleasure of entertaining them and preparing the wedding supper, after which they left for Zanesville, and in a short time they went to his old home in South Englewood, Chicago. I visited them several times there, attended the World’s Fair with her, enjoyed being with them in their nice home. Mrs. Hill died there some years ago. Mr. Hill has since died at his daughter’s. And so my old friends have nearly all passed away one by one to the life beyond, and others come and take their places, and they are soon forgotten, save in the hearts of those who loved them, and the world goes on as if they had never lived in it. That is one of the saddest thoughts to me—to be forgotten.
In one of Brother Miller’s protracted meetings, Cora was truly converted and joined the church, and she has been a faithful consistent Christian ever since. She is a great worker in the Sabbath School; was successful as a teacher, and had many friends in the church.
When Brother Miller had served his three years here, I believe he was made presiding elder in Columbus. He was a very intelligent man, and very useful, and much beloved by the people wherever he was sent to preach.
The preachers in olden times did not get large salaries as they do now, and many of them were poor. When we lived on the farm many years ago, a man was sent to our circuit whose name was Rev. A. F—. He and his wife were very nice good people. One Sunday when he came to our house to dinner, after which he was preparing to go to his afternoon appointment, I thought he looked sad and troubled as he bade us good-bye, and walked out on to the porch; so I followed him and I said, “Brother F., do you have all you need to live on? Are you bad off?” He said, “Oh, yes, sister, I am in need. Our flour is just gone, and really I do not know where the next is to come from.” I gave him a few things, and on Monday I rode over to Aunt Emily Seymour’s and told her, and asked her to go with me and visit the members and see what we could get. She got in my buggy and we started. We stated the case to each one, telling them to bring whatever they wished to give to the church on a certain day at nine a.m. We got a spring-wagon and met the people at the time appointed, and you ought to have seen the good, kind people load us up. We had a number of sacks of flour, jars of lard, hams of meat, potatoes, etc. Our wagon was full of good provisions. My husband hitched to the two-horse wagon, and loaded in hay and some corn, and Mr. Clark and Mr. Charley Montgomery put sacks of corn on top. My son Oliver and Willie Montgomery drove down to the preacher’s house. Aunt Emily and I went in the spring wagon, and the boys followed with hay and corn. When we reached Elizabethtown we drove to the parsonage and called to the preacher, and he and his wife came out, and when we began to unload they were much surprised, and, of course, delighted, and it seemed as if they could not get done thanking us, and we realized for sure that “it is more blessed to give than to receive.” We took with us plenty of good things for dinner, and we stayed and ate with them and had a most delightful visit, and then Sister F—presented me with her husband’s picture, saying, as she did so, “Sister O’Bannon, I never gave anyone a picture of Mr. F—, but I am going to give this to you.” It was on a small card, such as was used at that time. Those good people I expect have passed away ere this.
It was a long time after I joined the church before I could make up my mind to say brother and sister, as I had never heard it in England, and the older preachers used to talk to me about it a great deal; so at last I thought I would try to do it when the next new preacher on Elizabethtown circuit came. His name was Rev. David Mann. He came to our house and I greeted him and called him “Brother Mann,” but when we sat down to eat I kept thinking I will say “brother,” but as I began to pour the coffee in my haste, I said, “Mr. Mann, will you have brother and cream in your coffee?” People do not pass the cream and sugar around as they do now. The cream and sugar were always put into the cup before the coffee was poured in, which, I think, makes all the difference in the world to the flavor of coffee. They all laughed at my blunder, but I learned then and there to say “brother,” and “sister,” and never forgot it again.
But I must come back to my church in Newark. After Rev. John T. Miller left, Rev. W. D. Cherington was our next preacher. He was quite a young man, tall and very slender. He had a lovely wife and one little boy whose name was Frank Barnes, when he was appointed to our church. Another little son, whom they named Frederic William, was born during his stay with us. He was a man whom every member in the church loved. He was kind and genial. He always preached such nice sermons, and made everything seem so plain and home-like. I remember one sermon especially. It was about the many mansions that Jesus had gone to prepare for those who love Him; and one thing I can never forget because it just suited my taste: He said our Heavenly Father had in His house many mansions, and he should not wonder if we all had a mansion for ourselves and family, and, perhaps, our name would be on the door-plate. I thought it would be so nice if we could only be sure to have all our family there with us, but if part of them were missing, it would be very sad. Brother Cherington was with us three years, as that was the time allotted him. He had a great influence over the young people, and did a great deal of good while here with us.
When Rev. James Hill left our district, Rev. Isaac F. King, of Columbus, was presiding elder of the Zanesville district. He was a noble-hearted man. He has often stopped with us, and it was always a treat, too, and a great privilege to entertain him. He always seen to it at conference that the First Methodist Episcopal church, of Newark, got a first-class preacher; and he did all in his power to serve and promote the best interests of the district. He and Brother Cherington still live to bless the world, and I hope they may be spared for many years to come. Mrs. Cherington was called to her heavenly home in November, 1905, at Lancaster, where he is presiding elder. She was a good woman, a faithful wife, and his home must be sad and lonely. He has the sympathy of all the district and of all the people whom he served in years gone by.
Rev. J. W. Peters was our next preacher. He was here only one year, but in that short time he won the hearts of the people, and, I think, everybody was sorry to see him leave. While he was here Cora Belle was married to Mr. E. M. LaRue, of New Brunswick, N. J. The ceremony was performed by Rev. J. W. Peters, assisted by our former pastor, Brother Cherington, March 23d, 1887. Mr. LaRue had a tea and coffee store in partnership with Mr. Bishop, but after a time he and Cora moved to Beaver Falls, Pa., where they lived and had a more extensive store and did well. They have a host of friends. He is one of the best young men I ever met, a true Christian. After living there, about twelve years he sold out his store and moved to East Liverpool, Ohio, where they now reside. He is employed as bookkeeper in one of the large potteries. They have one child—a dear little boy who is beloved by everyone who has the pleasure of knowing him.
While Brother Peters was here the time came to have Children’s Day. I was on the committee, and I wanted to have a nice lively time, so we had a great many flowers, and asked the ladies to bring their birds to sing. Mrs. Cherry, my neighbor, had a very nice poll-parrot, given her by Mrs. White and her daughter, Mrs. Merrin, who lived in the house occupied by Rev. Chas. W. Wallace, until his recent decease. Mrs. White and her daughter were both members of our church and active workers in the Sunday School, and as they were going to leave Newark they gave Polly to Mrs. Cherry. I was very fond of Polly, and one time when the Cherry family were all going on a visit to be away for five or six weeks—they left Polly with me. She would sit on my shoulder and talk when I would be sewing. One day I entertained the Woman’s Foreign Missionary Society, and before the meeting opened the ladies sat and talked to each other. Polly chimed in and it amused them very much. Mrs. Bourner laughed, and then Polly laughed just exactly like her then they all got to laughing at Polly, and Polly laughed at them, and pretty soon the president said it was time to commence the devotional service. Mrs. Atherton went out in the room where Polly was sitting in her cage to get a chair, and as she started with it, Polly said, “Bring that chair back.” We closed the door between us, but Polly talked so loud and continued to mimic everything that at last I had to carry her to the kitchen. But I was going to tell about Children’s Day. I concluded that as the canary birds were to be there, Polly could go too. Mrs. Cherry wanted me to take her, and said she would fix up her cage real nice, so I at last consented to take her. I carried her in and set her cage inside the altar railing, and told her to be still. She kept very quiet until they were about to begin the exercises, when Polly jumped upon the top perch, and said loud as she could yell, “And where is pony now? Of course, the children and everybody laughed, and the children could not be quieted, so Brother Peters came to me and said I would have to carry Polly down stairs. I said to him, “Not for ten dollars will I do it; you must do it yourself.” So he took her down stairs and put her in one of the classrooms. I guess that was the first and last time ever Polly went to church. The next winter I went West—to Iowa—and remained until spring with my daughter Margaret, and while I was gone poor dear Polly died. I think they killed her with kindness. She was buried in their back yard, and I feel sorry to this day. All my life long I wanted a poll parrot that would talk—to have it for my very own —a thing I never expect to happen now. I write these little incidents of my life to amuse the younger people. I do not expect older persons to care to read them, but my grandchildren and great-grandchildren will enjoy it all. For them especially I write this history.
Many, many years ago the farmers around organized a club called, “The Farmers’ Club.” They met once a month to discuss plans and ways to farm successfully. These meetings were held at the homes of the members, the lady of the house getting up as fine a dinner as she knew how to prepare. It was for men only. In the winter the dinner consisted chiefly of turkey and English plum pudding, and all the good things that could be thought of to serve with it. The pudding was carried to the table smoking hot, with brandy poured over it and set on fire. They also made brandy sauce to pour over it. I well remember how we used to work when it came our turn to entertain the club. I do not think that any of these men ever became intoxicated but this was before the time of temperance societies, and people did not see the evil of using spirits as they did in after years. I think I have the names of the men who belonged to the first Farmers’ Club, and will give them: George W. Penney, James Birkey, Judge William O’Bannon, Andrew Taylor, George Pigg, Alex. McKinney, Rev. John H. Moore, George F. Moore, George A. Wilson, James A. Taylor, William O’Bannon, Jr.; T. S. O’Bannon, Sr.; Clark Montgomery, David Wilson, Henry Smith, David Smith, John Atherton, Gus Atherton, James Moore William R. Seymour. Presley Nevel O’Bannon joined later on. After a time the ladies began attending the meetings; each man took his wife. This swelled the number to such an extent that it became quite a serious matter to entertain the club. I well remember the first dinner I had to prepare after the temperance question was agitated. We had all joined the temperance society, and I did not have any brandy sauce or brandy on the pudding, and some of the men were very much displeased, but I stood firm and never used it afterwards. We used to have good social times at the farmers’ dinners and I think the men enjoyed them very much. There were only a few English people living around there that knew how to make the plum pudding, and I often went to the homes to make them, as I had learned of my mother. Mrs. Andrew Taylor would make them to perfection. Almost everybody makes them now, but all do not make them the real old way. My mother never failed to have one for dinner on Christmas; and then we did not have turkey in England as we do here, but we always had good roasted beef; and I remember the old saying when I was a child, was, “There is nothing like the good roast beef of old England to make a man what he should be.” But now for the receipt for the plum pudding:
1 lb. of raisins, seeded
1 lb. of currants
1 lb. of brown sugar
1 lb. of beef suet, chopped fine
1 lb. of candied citron
1 1-4 lbs. of flour
1 teaspoonful salt
hapath of allspice and cinnamon ground
1 nutmeg grated
Mix all well together while dry, then add eight well-beaten eggs, with just milk enough to barely wet it all through. Put a teaspoonful of soda in the milk. Put in a pan just large enough to hold it so the pan will be full. Tie a cloth over the top, and put it in a pot of boiling water and boil five hours, never letting it stop until done. (They steam them now in patent steamers, which is better.) Then make a sauce of flour, butter, sugar and water —boil a few minutes; flavor with vanilla.
All the grocery men in Henley, where I lived, made it a rule to give everyone who traded at their shop one pound of raisins and a hapath of allspice to make their Christmas pudding. They always cleared a place under the shelves behind the counter to put the pound package of raisins and the allspice for a week or so before Christmas. They put in every spare minute weighing the raisins and tying them up in packages ready for the people as they came in to buy something. The raisins and allspice would be laid down beside your other articles. No questions would be asked. We dealt most at Mr. Carter’s, on Bell street, but I sometimes would go to another place, so I never failed to receive a pound of raisins at that shop also, and we could have pudding enough for New Year’s as well. After we came to this country my parents kept up the old custom, and after I married, my husband and children and I always went home to spend Christmas, Then when my father died and the home was broken up I had the dinner at my house, and we never failed to have turkey and plum pudding, and after my children all married they and their families still come home, and on Christmas Day there was seldom anyone outside of our own family invited, and they threw off all restraint and had just as good a time as they wished. Sometimes we had a tree for the little ones, and there was always a present for each one with lots of candy and popcorn, and my children never forgot to have something nice for father and mother. Oh, those were bright spots in my life of which I love to think, and yet they make me sad.
Ellen S. O’Bannon 