Elizabeth and Henry

This is the only photo I know of with Momma as a child, she told us she was about 15 at the time. There is another girl in the picture, but I cropped her out as we don't know who she is, not a relative, and I for one have forgotten who she was. One of my relatives may correct me, and that'd be great. We need to share more.

Momma had the biggest eyes, so expressive, and she looks somewhat sad in this picture. And I see so many of my cousins in her face! She passed a lot of genetics down, that's for sure.

In an earlier Blog, I touched on her early marriage to a much older man, and the birth of my father as her first child, then eight more siblings. I can't think that she was unhappy, I know so little of that story, but I know she adored and revered Henry Chaisson, her husband.

Again so few pictures of these special and important people. On the far left is Henry seated at the door to an old barn that was in the back yard of the little house In Rollo Bay. He smoked a pipe religiously, but I can't see one in this photo. Next is Linda holding me, and Isabel is on the far right. And anyone who was lucky enough to know Everett would recognize him, up to usual antics, swinging from the rafters. We all have so many fond memories of Everett, nothing but good ones.

I love the Black and White photos, they seem to have more depth, they tell the real story, not embellished with color and shape. You have to use all your senses when you look at them, they bring things into focus.

Apparently not only Momma was an avid reader, Henry was too. As you can imagine there wasn't a plentitude of reading material for them, but Henry never went anywhere that he didn't have a paperback rolled up and stuffed in his back pocket. If they could get their hands on a newspaper, so much the better.

I wondered once, much later, that when a box or bag of used books were found somewhere, was I opening a book that perhaps my grandmother opened first? Or my grandfather? Fanciful I know, but I like to imagine stories. And tell stories. And some of them are even true!

When I was a kid, every time Momma would go to Souris or Charlottetown, I would beg and plead for a book. I loved history, especially anything pertaining to dinosaurs. I can't explain it, I was fascinated by them, and she rarely disappointed me. I can still see a big hardcover book, with brilliantly colored pictures of exhibits and digs and skeletons, and I would reverently trace the raised print on the pages. I was thrilled! Later would come the series books, like Trixie Beldon, The Bobsey Twins, Nancy Drew and The Hardy Boys. She brought me the classics, many of L. M. Montgomery's books, and Treasure Island, Black Beauty, Robinson Crusoe, Swiss Family Robinson, and I have such fond memories of reading Heidi, I loved that book. I could almost hear the cow bells ringing out in the Alps, and taste the creamy milk and sharp cheese.

And don't get me started on the comics! Ten cents each at the Snack Bar, I devoured them. Everything from Little Lotta to The Archies.

I wonder sometimes where all those books ended up. I loved my books so much that Momma asked Freddie if he would build a little bookcase for me, and he did! I had it all my childhood and teenage years, often doubling as a lamp stand. When the grandkids started, I passed it on, and I hope someone else is loving it now.

I always remembered a saying I heard years ago that went like this:

"Richer than I you could never be,

For I had a mother who read to me."

Well, of course I never had a mother or anyone else who read to me. From a very young age, I just put myself to bed, and I read at night once I learned how. But I am not bitter about it or anything else. I learned to just let things go, there's nothing to be gained to hanging on to things you can't change or understand. Also, you can't miss what you've never had, but I've always been grateful for the things I did learn, and for the opportunities I did have.

Another treasure of a picture, shared to me by cousin Daniel Bushey. It looks like my father was best man to my Uncle Art, but what a wonderful picture of my grandmother and grandfather, aren't they handsome? It's the only picture I've seen of Momma at or around this age. It looks like she had thick curly dark hair, and glasses of course. It looks like basically everyone in the photo is smiling except for Henry, but I've only ever heard that he was a stern man, and quiet. And at this stage he was probably already showing signs of dementia, which he suffered from until his death at age 71.

Henry had served in the first World War as a young man; he was born in 1888. He would have been 26 or so when he enlisted, and both his brothers served also. William fell at Vimy Ridge at the age of 21, and Edmund (sp?) enlisted in Newfoundland, which still belonged to England. Newfoundland didn't join Confederation until 1949, so even during World War 2, they were still fighting for England. And Edmund was never heard from again. David Perry gave me a hand this winter to see if some record of him could be found through the Legion, under the Canadian Expeditionary Force, but there is no one listed by that name, no matter how it's spelled. He just vanished.

So I can only hope that Momma and "Daddy" as she called him had a happy marriage. Life was pretty simple I would imagine, subsistence farming mostly, and a small pension.

But as I mentioned earlier, Momma had a wicked temper and it didn't take much to set it off, even when she was young, and hadn't suffered the hardships that were to come. One story stands out in my mind, and it was Momma who told it.

She and Kathleen were telling stories once, and I was doing my usual damnedest to overhear it. I was so nosy.

Kathleen would say "You should talk, Momma." "Oh you go on...."

And that would start a story.

Then Momma would say "Well, what about that time you were setting the table and the boys wouldn't stop burping?" She would be referring to the family in an earlier time, when they were all teenagers maybe. Kathleen was so mild and modest, but she hated any bad manners or crudeness. In this instance, her younger brothers Freddie and Merlin would be seeing who could burp the loudest, and we all know how disgusting that can be at the supper table. Even Daddy wouldn't put up with it.

Apparently Kathleen threatened, "If you fellas do that one more time, I'll put your heads through the window."

Now readers, picture this: a dainty little Kathleen, perhaps weighing all of 100 pounds. Her brother Merlin turned and leveled a look at her, right in the eye, and proceeded to belch as loud as he could without ripping his esophagus.

And she walked calmly to the end of the table, and gave him one wallop, and drove his head through the kitchen window.

Oh, how she and Momma laughed every time they told this story. Obviously he was none the worse for the wear.

Then Kathleen said, "Well, where do you think I got the temper? I remember the day you sent Daddy to Souris for some groceries and told him to bring back a "decent" blade roast for supper. He was gone all day, he took the horse and cart, and when he came home he was tired. I remember you opening up the package of meat." (This was the days of course, when you went to the butcher, probably Josie Grant at that time, and your meat was lovingly cut to order and wrapped in strong brown paper and tied with string. I well remember Dinkle doing that for me too, many times both in Souris and the River Road.)

"When you got a look at the roast, you held it up and roared at the top of your lungs.....you call this a blade roast? What am I supposed to do with this? Here, you cook it!"

And the story goes that Momma took the roast and threw it right at Daddy's head. It missed him narrowly, but the blade hit the door behind him, got stuck there, with the meat gently quivering. Then it slowly released and slid to the floor, and lay there in a shameful heap.

Her temper, as we knew it was nothing new. She was a hard woman to cross.

This picture was given to me years ago, sometime after Momma died. Eddie Gauthier was a lovely man who lived in the area, extremely smart, and so interesting to talk to. I remember him visiting Momma once, and telling her of some stories that he'd written, but a fire had destroyed them, and he never tried re-writing them. He shook his head and said "I was proud of them if I do say so myself." It was and is no doubt a loss.

Years later he dropped into the house with this picture and a story. He 'found' a few things and was trying to match them up with families. When he explained it, I felt like I'd won the lottery!

On the point just beyond our place where Reggie Deagle built his cottage and Jeff MacDonald owns it now there had been a lobster processing plant. It was news to me. But it made sense, for as years later when we were kids, we'd play and squirm around in this depression in the ground, of course long lost now to erosion. It would have marked the foundation of the Plant. And that property had been in our family for years. Now, there are chunks of charcoal and wood pieces coming out of the bank, so obviously something had been there, and Jamie and I have found several solid pieces of copper on the shore down below, probably used for solder. They are just the right size and shape, and would have eroded out of the bank.

Eddie pointed out that this was a picture of a plant crew and my great- grandfather Frederick Chaisson was in it. I couldn't believe it! My father's grandfather!

He is standing in the doorway, dead center, the shortest man there. Of course he was!

And Eddie commented, "He has such a handsome moustache." What a treasure!

Some families are blessed with old pictures, but they don't offer much when no one knows who the people are. We are going back a long way with this picture, the early to mid 1800s, I would guess, as Henry was born in 1888, and his father is in this photo. How I'd love to know the identity of the others, they'd all be locals, no doubt with descendents here.

Now Momma. There was a complicated woman. I asked her once where her relatives came from. She was quick with an answer, yet didn't like talking about it. I always just thought maybe it made her sad talking about it, because she didn't know her father, and her mother had remarried when Momma was about 4 years old or so, supplying the family with a step-father, pretty common in those days.

Her story went that her father was from England and as a young man had enlisted in the Navy. He served on board a British man-o-war headed for Canada, but he hated the Navy life, found it cruel. So the first chance he got, he jumped ship. This was down in Summerside. When the ship was ready to leave port, all the crew had to be rounded up for roll call, and pity help anyone who missed it. Apparently he was terrified to be caught, it would mean immediate court marshall. But he stayed hidden, even when he was close enough to hear the shouts. At one point, he hid in a barrel, and his commanding officer was pounding on top of it with his fist, saying what he would do when the missing man was caught. Eventually the ship left without him, and he was safe on this little Island.

Now, that's quite a romantic story. A common story. And it might explain why the name "Heartz" is so rare on Prince Edward Island. Perhaps Joseph Heartz the deserter was the first one here.

Perhaps.

I'm pretty sure I'm not the only person in the family who can weave a tale. To me, none of these dates, events or happenings really line up.

One of my cousins did a little search a few years ago and had an interesting analysis, and just yesterday in preparing for my Blog, I googled the origin of the name. Quite interesting indeed.

My search told me that "HEARTZ" was of German origin, and a rare name worldwide. It derives, among other spellings, as herz, meaning heart as we know it, and means "stalwart and strong."

That makes sense. So did cousin Kenny's story.

German Jews have been persecuted for centuries, since before records were even kept. In 1819, the pogroms began in Germany, leading to Jews being stripped of all rights, and riots began. So too did the mass immigration of German Jews to other parts of the world.

It doesn't take a genius to connect the dots. Momma's father had a name found only in the Black Forest region of Germany, since the spelling kept changing depending on where these people ended up. It makes perfect sense that some of those families immigrated to Canada, and here on the east coast is reasonable, since ships would land here first. If you were looking to start a new life to escape religious persecution, I can easily believe this would be the perfect place to live in peace. In the late 1800s, there would be a much smaller population and lots of land to live on. If you didn't tell people who you were, they didn't ask.

Joseph Heartz found a girl in that area, Mary Doucette. They were married and started a big family. Easy to hide that you were actually Jewish in a decidely non-Jewish place, just start all over. If there was a picture of him, I've never seen it.

It sort of explains a lot. Momma had a lot of respect for religion and faith, but never went to church if it could be helped. She was easily upset if you started asking questions, she'd just roar and you'd stop. Just things. If there was a germ of truth in this theory, Joseph Heartz would have been trying to hide his past and no doubt pass that on to his family.

From what I know Momma was raised as a Catholic but what about the generation before? And before that? I don't understand why people have to hide such things, or just refuse to discuss them, which I guess is the same thing.

But my brothers and I went to church every Sunday alone, Momma never came, and that was hard too. We either walked through Mahar's Woods, or took the hill, or a neighbor took us.

In looking back, I'm not sure we ever got a lot out of it.