Milk carton caboose, circa 1950s

March is, among other things, National Craft Month.  We’ve featured some high-end crafting on the blog, like the hair wreath, the fretwork Lord’s Prayer, and the engineer-built cardboard house model . . . but today, let’s look at something a little simpler: a train caboose made of wood, wire, spools, paint, and a milk carton.

Our little caboose was donated in 1998 by Eugenie Riggs, who told us it was made by one of her sons as a Boy Scout project.  George and Eugenie Riggs had four sons, born between 1934 and 1946; the family moved from D.C. to Chevy Chase in 1936, and then to Ashton’s historic “Cherry Grove” in 1945.  Waxed cardboard milk cartons were invented in the early 20th century, but didn’t become popular until the 1950s or so; thus I think the caboose was probably made in Ashton.  (Any Ashton-area Scouts from the 1950s out there want to chime in?)

The underlying structure here is a Lucerne Vitamin D Milk carton.  The wheels are made of wooden spools, cut in two and connected with dowels, then attached to the carton with heavy wire.  Extraneous bits, like the top of the compartment and the little ladders on the ends, are made of cardboard, including some decorative corrugation on the roof.  The whole thing is painted red and black, and marked “B-O” for the B&O Railroad, one of the oldest railroads in the country (and a presence in Montgomery County since 1873).

Pretty cute, right?  Unfortunately, we did not get any other information from Mrs. Riggs about this piece; while she was definitely a ‘saver,’ and gave us a very large donation of toys and playthings, this is the only craft-type artifact that was included.  It seems likely that it meant something special, to her and/or to its maker.  I’ve always liked this little caboose because it shows that milk-carton kids crafts – which abound on the internet (there are entire websites devoted to what you can make from a milk carton!) – have been around as long as the cartons themselves.

 

“I must keep my seat,” 1919

I started work on a nice, long blog post this morning, then realized that I should hold onto it until July 2013 when this particular artifact will be 200 years old.  (And you’ll just have to wait a few months to find out what it is!)  Instead, here’s a quick look at some of the cataloging work that’s been going on ‘behind the scenes’ in the curator’s office – specifically, one of the fun things we’ve found.

This winter’s in-depth cataloging project is books: textbooks, novels, picture books, cookbooks, and the like, owned and used by local people.  We have a largeish set of textbooks from Rose K. Dawson of Rockville, including many used in the 1910s-20s at the Rockville Academy by her brothers, Walter and Joe, and by family friend William Ross.  Ross, a Native American from Nebraska, came to live with the Dawsons when that family moved here in 1911; they lived at Rocky Glen, Mr. Dawson’s family home in Rockville.  Ross’s story is a good one, and I’ll include more of it in a future post; for now, let’s just say that he liked to write in his textbooks.  The Dawson boys did too, but Ross’s books are particularly scribbled-in.  (As someone whose class notes, if not necessarily school-property books, were always covered in doodles, I sympathize.)   Flipping through this copy of Higher Lessons in English:  A work on English Grammar and Composition, In which the Science of the Language is Made Tributary to the Art of Expression - A Course of Practical Lessons Carefully Graded, and Adapted to Every-Day Use in the School-Room  (Reed & Kellogg, 1909), one finds repeated iterations of “Bill Ross, Rockville Maryland,” the date 1919, and – fantastically – this page:

Though it seems unlikely that a teacher would chastise a student by having him write “I must keep my seat” in his textbook, even a book that the Dawsons had purchased (like this one), perhaps Ross was simply continuing his written punishment in a slightly rebellious manner, or out of boredom.  Just from this one little page, I feel like the window of the past is a little clearer – always remember that our ancestors were people, not simply collections of genealogical facts. Of course, our official stance is “Don’t write in books, kids!” . . . but, actually, go ahead and write in your books.  (In moderation.) Future historians may thank you!

 

Child’s shoes, circa 1890

Last week, a reader admired the tidy little boots sported by the Parsly children in their family portrait. Here’s a closer look at a similar, though slightly earlier, pair.

These side-button black leather boots are six inches from toe to heel. They’re fairly worn and scuffed, and the right shoe has a hole worn through at the big toe, but otherwise they are in stable condition.  They were probably sturdy, everyday shoes, worn until outgrown.

The boots were likely worn by their donor, Isabel Stabler Moore (1885-1971), daughter of Dr. Augustus and Helen Snowden Stabler. Isabel was born in Lawrence, Massachusetts, but the family returned to “Roslyn,” Dr. Stabler’s home in Brighton (Sandy Spring area), after the death of his father in 1890.  An interesting – and currently unanswered – question is, why were they saved?  For sentimental or practical reasons, or perhaps it was simply an oversight?

Inside the left boot is a label for ”Best & Co., New York,” a high-end children’s clothing store (originally, anyway) founded in 1879. I can’t find catalog images for that shop, but here’s a selection of children’s shoes from the 1886 Bloomingdale’s catalog. Isabel’s boots resemble the “spring heel” boot on the right (minus the scalloped edge), suitable for both boys and girls.

In surveying 1890s images from our photo collections, most of the girls are wearing side-button boots while the boys have front-laced ones, but I don’t believe that was a hard and fast rule.  Slightly older girls had heeled boots, but otherwise toddler shoes of the late 19th century seem fairly interchangeable.

Left: Robert Leroy Warfield (1889-1970) of Rockville, donated by the Warfield family. Right: Martha Sprigg Poole (1890-1972) of Poolesville & Washington DC, donated by Katherine Poole.

Want more children’s shoes? We have a nice selection, some of which will probably end up on the blog eventually, but in the meantime check out the collections of the Wisconsin Historical Society, which has gathered their 1890s children’s footwear onto one page (including a fabulous pair of blue boots, which I covet).

 

Twelves

In honor of today’s date, 12/12/12, here’s an assortment of ‘twelves’ – some deliberate, some accidental – from our collections. (And no, there aren’t twelve of them; that seemed excessive.)

First up: two twelve-candle molds, tin, late 18th or 19th century. The one on the left, in original (if well-used) condition, was donated by Mary Kingdon, and probably used by her family in Rockville. The one on the right - the handle has broken off, and it was painted black sometime in the late 20th century – came from the Tschiffely family of Gaithersburg, donated by Jean Seeback. Both of these make 10½” tapers, twelve at a time (we also have molds for 4 at a time and 6 at a time, but of course, today is 12 day).  In the interest of saving space, I refer you to either your favorite life-in-olden-times novel or YouTube to learn how to make candles with one of these.

These miniature metal soldiers were made by the Barclay Manufacturing Company of New Jersey; they’re “podfoots,” a style created in 1951 by Barclay to conserve metal (instead of standing on a flat base, they simply have flattened “pod” feet). They saw action in Bethesda, and only these twelve comrades survived. Owned, and donated, by Bill Allman.

A box of H.B. Marking & Embroidery Cotton, still containing its original twelve spools, circa 1890. Until the 1880s, red was a notoriously unstable dye; the introduction of “turkey red” floss (developed in Turkey), colorfast and cheaper than silk, started a fad for redwork embroidery on everyday household linens.  These embroidered pictures were generally outline-stitch pictures of flowers, fruit, children, animals, humorous sayings, etc.; designs were published in magazines, pre-printed fabric squares were available for a penny, or you could of course draw your own.  Redwork stayed popular through the 1920s and ‘30s – examples can be found in antique stores everywhere – and is experiencing something of a resurgence in today’s retro-crafty communities. Purchased by MCHS.

Twelve hand-wrought iron nails removed from “Pleasant Hills,” a house in Darnestown, during gutter work in 2003. The center block of the house was built in the 1760s for Charles Gassaway; the wings were constructed in the 1870s and 1910s. Someone could probably tell us more precisely when these nails were made and used, but we haven’t yet made that attempt. Donated by Mary Wolfe.

And last but not least, a tin suppository mold, mid 19th century, with twelve holes.  The box is 5.5″ long and 3.5″ deep, with the ‘thimbles’ making suppositories a little less than 2″ long.  Yes, it makes exactly what you think it does; 19th century doctors and pharmacists made their own recipes using  these handy tools.  According to “The Art of Dispensing,” 1915, by Peter MacEwan, “an American style [of suppository mold] consists of a circular metal box pierced with holes into which thimbles fit. The box can be filled with iced water or a freezing-mixture. The thimbles are filled with the suppository-mixture, dropped into the box, and owing to the chill the contents of the mold contract, and are easily tapped out when solid.” This piece was donated to MCHS by John Bentley of Sandy Spring. Mr. Bentley served as the MCHS curator in the late 1940s-early 1950s, and many of the items credited to Bentley were in fact collected by him from other county residents; thus, unfortunately, the specific history of this item is unknown.

I hope you all enjoy your Last Consecutive Date Day (especially if today is your birthday) until 01/01/2101. Go forth, and do something twelve times!

 

Toy fire engine, circa 1900

Today’s artifact was a special request* from a volunteer, who wanted to learn more about the toy fire engine on display in the “kids’ bedroom” in the Beall-Dawson House. If you spot something in the museum and want to know more, you can ask the docent or – if you’re on a self-guided tour – check out the listing in the room guidebook; but if you need to delve deeper, please let me know! There’s always more to say about an artifact than will fit in our little guidebooks.

This horse-drawn fire pumper wagon is made of cast iron, measures 12 inches from horse nose to back wheel, and was originally painted in bright yellow, red, blue, black and gold. Much of the paint has worn off, and in fact this photo shows it looking a little spiffier than usual thanks to the camera flash; in normal light, and from behind the room barrier, it looks rather dull.  Let’s give it a chance to look colorful once more.

Cast iron toys were common in the late 19^th and early 20^th centuries. They often involved moving parts: mechanical banks, clockwork trains, pull-toys with clanging bells, cap pistols, even working steam engines. According to Richard O’Brien, author of The Story of American Toys (1990), cast-iron was “a peculiarly American material . . . rarely used elsewhere for toys.” In the days before plastics, though, cast iron was sturdy, moldable, and relatively inexpensive – perfect for the toy industry. A large number of companies produced mechanical toys in cast iron, often along very similar lines; variations on the horse-drawn fire pumper were produced by Hubley, Kenton, and Ives, among others. Our particular example is unmarked (other than the number “870″ impressed on the underside), and while there are many similar examples in books and online – most dated to the very early 20^th century – I haven’t found a specific match with an identified maker.

Above: cast iron fire engine toys in the 1900 Sears catalog, “handsomely painted in bright colors . . . strong, interesting and durable.”

Toy fire engines have had a long-lasting, and obvious, appeal. Real fire engines are fast and highly noticeable, and fire fighting is an important and exciting job. Remember this post, where Mr. Prout (1840) cautioned his children against messing around with the equipment at the nearby firehouse? I bet the young Prouts had some kind of fire engine toy or make-believe fire-fighting game. Toys like this one help us make connections between our own childhood and that of our ancestors. Relatively faithful toy versions of the ‘real thing,’ in this case a steam-boiler pumper, can also tell us about old technologies; though they might seem primitive to us today, steam-powered hose pumpers were a big improvement over hand-pumped water. Here’s a restored steam fire engine, if you want to compare it to our little one (and learn more about how they work).

As for this particular toy itself, it was donated by Eugenie LeMerle Riggs (1904-2003) in the 1990s. From conversations with the donor it appears that she collected antique toys as an adult, but this piece may have belonged to her as a child in Washington DC – or perhaps she purchased the antique toy for her own sons to play with, when they were growing up in Ashton. Eagle-eyed toy collectors may notice that our toy has acquired some extra bits, including a back-up driver who can be seen chillin’ on the side in some of the pictures, and a spare crank or wheel which I keep sticking on top of the boiler (where it does not belong) to keep it from getting lost.

So when you visit us, keep an eye out for our little fire engine, and let me know what else you’ve noticed in the museum that deserves some extra attention!

*Yes, if you make a request, it will make it onto the blog eventually! It’s not just because – in this case – the inquirer was my father. (Hi, Dad!)

 

“I will send a postal”

I am delighted to present our first guest blog!  Today’s post was written by Becky Malament, a recent UMBC graduate.  As part of her internship project with the Historical Society, Becky cataloged a collection of postcards – including many from the Lynch family of DC – donated by Joyce Candland.  Here is Becky’s perspective on the project.  -Joanna

With the progression of time, things are always constantly changing. New things are always being invited and discovered, buildings are always being built up and torn down, and one thing we tend to think is that people change along with everything else. And while that might be true in some ways, such as communication (no Facebook, or cell phones or texting in 1910!), people in some respects are always the same in that they always have and always will communicate.

This month, the blog highlights the life and friendship of a young woman named Agnes L. Lynch, through postcards sent to and from her among herself, her friends, and family members. From the 1920 Census we know that Agnes was born in 1907 and she lived in Washington DC with her father William and her mother Zella.

From postcards that are housed in the Montgomery County Historical Society’s collections, we know that the family would travel, possibly for vacation, to Hagerstown somewhat frequently, and that Agnes’ father William would travel often, but would stay in touch with his wife and daughter through the mail when he did.

“My Dear little girl, I will send a postal be a good little Baby and come home to  see papa a kiss to you dear  By by sweetheart [your] Papa.”  (Washington, DC, Nov 11, 1909)

Agnes also kept in touch with many friends and distant relatives by mail.

“Dear Agnes.- I wish you a happy birthday. I hope all are well. With great love, Undine. xxxxxxxxxxxxxx” (Cleveland, OH, March 12, 1916.  Undine was Agnes’ cousin.)

Though due to the greater challenge of communicating with loved ones in the past compared to the ease of communication today, loved ones still maintained frequent communication with each other throughout history. It is incredible and fascinating to see – through letters and stories to and from Agnes – how life, while different in regards to technology and world events, was similar if not identical to the way life is today. People loved each other, people went to work and school, people got sick, and people lived life together. No matter how much the world around us changes, people are still people no matter what year it is, and that seems unlikely to change!

 

A little ballet, 1920s-30s style

June is the traditional time for many things, from weddings to graduations. It’s also the month of recitals. After a year of study, it’s time to show off what you’ve learned, be it music, recitation (hence “recital”), or some other skill. In that spirit, and in honor of my readers about to embark on a spring recital – or with fond (?) memories of recitals past – here are a few items related to The Dance.

“Mrs. L.N. Vassilief and her Ballet Dancing Class invite you and your friends to the Recital, Given at the Rockville High School, June 7^th, 1924.”

Ludmila Vassilief can be found in the 1930 census, along with husband Leonid and daughters Tatiana and Irene, living on the “Darnestown Pike” (Route 28). Both the senior Vassiliefs were born in Russia, and emigrated to the US in 1916. Mrs. Vassilief was almost certainly training her students in the Russian method of ballet, today known as the Vaganova school and one of the more popular styles of classical ballet in America.

Appearing many times on the program are the Hasselblatt sisters, Nelly and Tamara, who were also born in Russia. In 1920 they were living with their parents and siblings on a farm in Hunting Hill, outside Rockville on the Darnestown Pike. By the 1930 census Tamara Hasselblatt Dmietrieff, “music teacher,” was lodging with the Mann family in DC. As for her piano pupil, Catherine Dawson (#3 in your program), the Dawsons lived between Rockville and Hunting Hill on Route 28. We have a copy of Catherine’s 1922 diary, and Tamara is mentioned several times; she was giving French lessons to the younger girl at the Hasselblatt home. (Catherine also practiced her piano diligently, at least according to her diary, and apparently it paid off: a solo in the recital!)

As of now, this little program is the only evidence of Mrs. Vassilief’s dance school that I can find. Jumping ahead twenty years, a number of dance schools can be found in the 1949 Rockville (And Vicinity) Directory, neatly sandwiched between Dairies and Dead Animal Removal (!) – click to enlarge and read:

I realize that these blog posts often get very detailed on the people history (hey, I’m an anthropologist at heart) and a little light on the artifact history. Let me redress that with a little pointe shoe.

(Seriously little: it’s only 7 inches long.)

Though a staple of classical ballet today, pointe or toe shoes are not as old as the dance itself. Marie Taglioni, a celebrity ballerina in 1830s-40s Paris, brought what was previously a momentary trick – rising all the way up to your toes – into the mainstream, and only then were shoes designed to facilitate this style of dance. By the early 20^th century the modern, stiffened-box shoe was in place.

This pair of shoes belonged to the donor (now a Montgomery County resident) in 1932, probably in Wyoming or Colorado; she was four years old at the time. The scuffs and stains show that they were really worn, not just a cute prop.  Thanks to the interior label, we can see that the shoes were patented by Barney S. Bonaventure of New York in 1925. In reading his patent application for a “new and useful Toe Slipper,” I can appreciate the thought he put into making a more comfortable, flexible pointe shoe (having worn them at times myself). There’s nothing said about making them available to toddlers, but it’s probable that in the 1920s, teeny tiny pointe shoes were to be expected. Today, however, the majority of teachers in the various schools and traditions of ballet suggest that students wait until the bones in their feet have finished growing, and until their strength and technique is sufficient to support them (often around 12 years old). Pointe is no joke!

If you’re interested in the history of pointe work within the ballet world, there are some additional links below.  Interested in the history of dance in Montgomery County?  Come help me do some fun research!

An overview of the use of pointe technique throughout ballet history -

A 2011 argument for viewing pointe shoes as “technological artifacts” -

And some famous ballet shoes at the Bata Shoe Museum.

 

Girl Scout artifacts, 1940s-1970s

As you probably know, this past Monday (March 12, 2012) marked the 100th anniversary of the Girl Scouts of America.  In modest commemoration of the date, here are a few things from our collections related to local troops.

This handkerchief belonged to Kathleen Sisk of Takoma Park, Md., who was a member of a D.C. troop in the late 1940s.  The colorfully printed fabric measures 11.5″ square.  The symbols around the edges correspond to badges, and appear to include everything from art to boatcraft to skiing.  (Unfortunately, we don’t have any GSA handbooks earlier than the 1970s in our collections; anyone have insight into the official badge names?)  We also have Kathleen’s green beret, which was later handed down to her younger sister Ann (who was not a Girl Scout) and the insignia was removed.  Both items were donated by Kathleen’s daughter, along with a few artifacts from the daughter’s own 1970s troop in Silver Spring.  (I love continuity!)

This snapshot, donated by Jean Case, shows members of Girl Scout Troop 59 (Rockville) participating in the 1953 Rockville Memorial Day Parade (and looking very pleased to do so).

And finally, here’s a Girl Scout pocketknife, donated by an MCHS member who led Troop 47 (Flower Valley) in the 1970s.  The knife was used by both of her daughters on camping trips.  I particularly like the fact that the can opener blade is marked “CAN OPENER” – apparently the uses of the other blades were self-evident. 

Looking for more on the history of the Girl Scouts?  Here’s the official GSA overview.  Want to get involved in local scouting?  Here’s the Girl Scout Council of the Nation’s Capital.  Want to really get involved in hyper-local scouting?  Volunteer at the Historical Society!  We have history programs for Brownies and Girl Scouts, and as much fun as it is for us to lead those tours, we can always use volunteers. 

 

Child’s dress, 1842-46

This little red cotton dress was worn by Ann Maria Jones, who was born in 1840 and died in 1846.

The handmade dress is simple, but not plain. The six buttons up the front are decorative (the dress fastens in the back with five plainer buttons), and piping was added at the neck, waist and arms. The skirt is full, and would have fitted over a petticoat and, most likely, a pair of bloomers. (Click here to see the overall effect, albeit with a fancier gown.)

In the mid 19^th century, both boys and girls under the age of 6 wore dresses like this one. Children’s clothing followed fashions just as adult wear did, but relatively simple dresses like this one were made for several decades. How, then, do we know that it was worn by a little girl in the 1840s? A previous owner took the time to write us a note – and not just any old note on paper, but a message written on the lining of the bodice: “Little Ann Maria’s dress. She was Grandma Jones’s oldest child. Died with typhoid and effects too much calomel. Age 6 years.”

The clues given here point us to Ann Maria Jones (1840-1846), daughter of David Trundle and Mary Ann Dawson Jones. Mary Ann (daughter of James Mackall and Ann Nancy Allnutt Dawson) grew up in “Mother’s Delight,” in the Boyds/Dawsonville area, and married David in January1840. Ann Maria was the oldest of their seven children; she, her mother, and three of her siblings are buried in Monocacy Cemetery, along with earlier family members who were moved from the graveyard at “Mother’s Delight.” Since the donor, Lawrence Elgin, is also descended from the Allnutt/Dawson family, Ann Maria Jones is almost certainly the original owner of this little dress.

Why was this dress saved? We don’t know. I know that typhoid (and other) patients were quarantined, but did you get rid of all their clothes and belongings while you were at it? (Or do I only think that because of The Velveteen Rabbit?) This dress seems a little small for a six year old; maybe it was an earlier gown, untainted by association with the disease. . . but in that case, why didn’t Ann Maria’s younger siblings wear it? Or maybe they did, but the lasting association was with Ann Maria. The message in the dress provides some good clues, but it doesn’t tell the whole story.

As for the mortal “effects of too much calomel” – calomel was a common remedy in the mid 19^th century, a heroic medicine used for many diseases (especially bowel illnesses like typhoid fever). Unfortunately, calomel contained mercury, and too much of it caused mercury poisoning; you might survive the illness but die of the treatment. Poor Ann Maria, not quite six years old, probably didn’t have much of a chance.

 

What are you reading?

Today’s (somewhat lengthy) post was indirectly inspired by the American Library Association’s Banned Books Week. As I poked about in our records looking for challenged books, I remembered that several of our diarists describe their reading material, and how much I enjoy learning what people read for pleasure. Let’s take a look at what some county residents* were reading in the past, presumably censor-free.

*Only ladies today, but that’s simply because I remembered these particular diaries – nothing against the men!

Caroline Miller (1842-1904) grew up in Alexandria, Virginia, daughter of a prominent Quaker family. In 1867 she married Roger Brooke Farquhar of Sandy Spring, and lived her married life at “Rock Spring,” a farm between Rockville and Norwood. She kept a diary during her teenage years, and again from 1885 until her death. The first volume of her diary gives us a hint as to her reading preferences, and to the problems she faced because of them.

October 22, 1859: . . .After tea I read a good while in a magazine, but Mother reproved me for reading so much that was pernicious in its tendency, and advised me to go to my sewing, which I did. In a short time I put my work up, I read some of Leigh Richmond’s letters to his children, in which I was much interested; I shall read more of them, and endeavor to profit by the good and beautiful rules which he lays down for his children.

November 17, 1859: . . . I enjoyed [Quaker] Meeting very much, I had a good many good thoughts, and the Extracts from the minutes of the Yearly Meeting, which Sarah Wright read, I liked very much, especially what was said about the reading of pernicious books, which I wish I could follow.

February 15, 1860: . . . I have just commenced “Irving’s life of Washington,” and so far I am much interested and I think I shall grow more so, as I go on; it is a great undertaking I know, for me, to read so large a work, there being three volumes, but I hope I may persevere and get through with it and derive some benefit from it; I can see in what I have already read, that Washington, even in his youth was remarkable for his forethought and carefulness in all matters of business.

In addition to these specific passages, Carrie mentions reading “some trifling stories” several times, and in December 1859 she reads Adam Bede (George Eliot, 1859) though without editorial comment. In the back of the volume she made a shopping list (below) that includes The Mill on the Floss (Eliot, 1860) for 87 ½ cents.

In the later volumes from her youth, Carrie no longer frets about the pernicious tendencies of her reading. In the back of the 1863 diary she lists twenty works by Sir Walter Scott, and a shopping list at the end of 1866 includes Wives and Daughters (Mrs. Gaskell, 1866) for $1.50. Either she’s come to terms with her own taste for novels, or she’s stopped telling her parents. And what of adult Carrie? In the 1885-1904 volumes there are few references to specific works other than the Bible, A Tale of Two Cities, several Shakespeare plays (read aloud by family members), and a Civil War-themed novel called In War Time, published in 1884. She makes no judgement calls about any of them, though In War Time did occupy her “all the evening” (March 18, 1886).  The rather arduous life on a farm may not have left her much time for novels.

Now let’s move forward several decades, to two women who are unapologetic in their tastes. Mrs. Ethelyn Clagett Pratt of Rockville kept a small journal from 1919 through 1930, in which she wrote down the menus served at her various club meetings. In the back of the book she also noted a few novels, complete with plot summaries:

“Visitors to Hugh [actually Hugo] by Alice Grant Rosman. Invalid young man. [Published in 1929.]  —– Pirate’s Face by Norval Richardson. Queer story – Lucienne and Meredith marry – father makes the match – loss of memory. Couple to go South America. At last everything turns out OK. [1928. Sign me up! This book sounds awesome.] —— The Fifth Latchkey by Natalie Sumner Lincoln. Murder story – near Wash[ington]. Rockville Court House &c. [1929. I bought and read this book last year, and it does indeed take place in Rockville.] ——- A Lady of Quality, by Frances Hodgson Burnett. Beautiful girl – grows up wild like weed, becomes fine woman. [First published 1896.] —– Read in July 1930: Shepherds by Marie Conway Oemler [1926]; The Road to Understanding by Eleanor H. Porter author of Just David [1917; Eleanor H. Porter also wrote, more famously, Pollyanna].”

We’ll end our survey of “What Are You Reading? The Past Edition” with Catherine Dawson (1910-1974) of Rockville. According to the evidence of her childhood diary, Miss Dawson was a voracious reader. Nearly every entry includes time spent reading, and she finishes books with great rapidity. Just in the first four months of 1922 (remember, she’s 12 years old) she buys eleven books, reads at least sixteen books, and borrows several more from friends and the Rockville Library. Here’s a sample day, Monday January 9, 1922:

“Went to school and had a pretty good time. After school I went with Lillian to Hazel’s. About four o’clock I came home and read Two Little Women and Treasure House. After dinner I practiced and got my lessons then I finished Two Little Women. It is just fine, and peachy.” [I couldn’t identify Treasure House, but Two Little Women is by Carolyn Wells, 1915. Catherine uses "just fine" as in "simply great," not "only so-so."]

Catherine doesn’t provide all the titles, and some books are only mentioned by author - including Dickens - or series, but in case you want to recreate her list (many are available as free ebooks, if you search for them) here’s what is named from January to April 1922:

Outdoor Girls at Bluff Point [Laura Lee Hope (also wrote The Bobbsey Twins), 1920]

Georgina’s Service Stars [Annie Fellows Johnston (also wrote The Little Colonel), 1918]

“[Street &] Smith’s College Stories” [a pulp magazine]

The Border Boys Across the Frontier [Fremont B. Deering, 1911. Clearly Catherine was an equal opportunity reader of boys and girls stories.]

Mildred’s Boys and Girls; “it is fine.” [Martha Finley, 1914]

Elsie Dinsmore [borrowed from her friend K. Hicks. Also by Martha Finley; it's not clear if Catherine meant the first book, or one of the series published 1867-1905.]

The Best Man [I’m not sure about this one, but it is probably the novel by Grace Livingston Hill, 1913.]

The Lost Prince [Frances Hodgson Burnett, 1915]

The Veiled Lady [Not positively identified; I really want this to be the short story by Agatha Christie, one of Poirot’s early adventures, though I can’t find a reference to it being published before 1923.]

One or more books in the Grace Harlowe series [Josephine Chase writing as Jessie Graham Flower, 1910-1924]

The Lucky Sixpence [Emilie Benson Knipe, 1912]

These lists of books, and the occasional plot summary or mini-review, are highly entertaining to me, as a modern reader. Some of the best parts of reading old diaries and memoirs are those moments of connection between your own experience and that of your predecessors, whether it’s complaining about homework or housework, enjoying a good time with friends, or sharing an opinion of a book. Who hasn’t felt guilty for reading “trifling stories,” as Carrie Miller did, or gone to school and had “a pretty good time” like Catherine Dawson? Plus, I love reading old novels – whether Mrs. Gaskell or an Outdoor Girls story – and these lists give me some good tips. Judging from Mrs. Pratt’s description of Pirate’s Face, it is a Must Read.

Sources: Caroline Miller Farquhar’s diaries were donated to our library by her son, Roger Brooke Farquhar II.  Mrs. Pratt’s menu journal (which has been featured here before) was donated to the library by a member of her family.  Catherine Dawson’s diary is still in the hands of her family, but a copy was provided to the library by Beth Dawson Rodgers.   Authors and publication dates, when not given by the diarist, were gleaned from many internet searches.  Alas, we do not have any of these exact novels in our collections.