Tuesday, January 6, 2009

Morgan 2: Harold Morgan, May 9, 1913

Hunt Ariz.
May 9th 1913

Dearest. Just three days since I left you yet it seems weeks which has been time enough though for many thoughts and questions to run thru [sic] my mind, different things I would like to talk to you about but can’t write on account of lack of expression. But I will save it all till we meet again.

Jessie I don’t know whether I can forgive you or not for walking me so far. Say but you must have been tired. I am all rested now and only the sweetest of memories comes to me. What a lot of things we talked about. Now we understand each other better don’t we dear. How I would love to see you tonight. There is a new moon tonight—no doubt you are looking at it now. There was also a new moon two years ago on the 5th of May the first time I kissed you. One reason for my being so persistent with you. But that seems so far back in the past. You were but a small girl and I was not any more of a boy.

Lin has just brought your letter so right here is where I read it. Say that’s the biggest letter you ever wrote to me, it’s a dandy, come again. But I’m surprised to think you would wonder if I was disappointed, well I should say not, if you had heard Udall and I eulogise [sic] on it you wouldn’t think so, really dearest I think it was the best time I ever had with you. I’m surley [sic] glad we didn’t go up to Lymans. Hope you have a good time down to Gibbons. Also your boat ride you hadn’t ought to miss anything like that. Are you really going to Eagar and for how long.

Say I was so sorry to hear about Katie Rabbi. Would surley [sic] hate to be Maurice. Hate to mention anything like that in a letter of this kind rather knocks the spirit out of a guy.

Was surprised that Joe didn’t know who that was. But that was a close one anyway wasn’t it.

Fri evening.– I would start this over but I’m afraid would run out of ink. You can hardly see what is left in the bottle. I don’t know what I have written will do better Sunday when I have more of the spirit. When I can be alone with only you dear heart as a companion, for a feel that you are ever near when everything is peaceful and quiet around. The birds seem to sing sweeter nature seem [sic] ever glad. This morning as I was hunting I found a flower, no it wasn’t a carnation just a lonely pretty little white flower, it reminded me of you. So I am keeping it.

How many things I have got to remind me of you. But dearest of all is the little tress that you seemed to miss so badly. Well dear be good write to me soon.

And ever believe me
yours most devotedly
Harold


(White wildflower from http://flickr.com/photos/prkos/1258388964/)

Monday, January 5, 2009

Morgan 2: Harold Morgan, April 17, 1913

Hunt Ariz.
April 17 1913

Dear Jessie:– No doubt you are wondering if I am going to write. I hate to make explainations [sic] and excuses but really I didn’t get your letter till last night things have been so disarranged. I have not been home since Sunday, but after this it will be different. You ask me which days you were to write. Above all days get one to me on Sun. The other any time, along about Thursday perhaps.

I am about to think you misunderstood my letter, when I commented on yours. But you ought to have known what I meant We mustn’t and we won’t misunderstand each other will we, dear. We can’t afford to. Another thing, you ought not to have thrown that up to me about (other girls) that hurt. I’ll admit writting [sic] to (other girls) but that’s in the past why not forgive and forget. I think only of the future and the times when with you. Little girl I almost live on (our yesterdays). They are my day dreams “night and day believe me.” See I still remember, also you saying “yes and you, ick!” “forget it!” I hope that’s our last one.



There are three meadow larks just out side calling to each other. It sounds so pretty. I would rather hear a meadow lark than any kind of a song bird. No doubt they know I am lonely for that reason they sing so sweetly. But I am going to say it is my heart calling to yours Because I can understand better what is said. One says “I love you, love you dearest” the other returns “I love you to [sic]”. What an imaginative mind I’ve got. Yet one can’t help but like to think of things like that. It seems to me one could sit for hours and dream like that. I know I can of you, “because I’ve tried it.” I can hardly imagine what kind of a world this would be if it were not for you. I wouldn’t I couldn’t be the same, the same Harold that you know. I would be but an atom in this great world. Whereas now I know but one world where you and I are the sole occupants.

In my imagination it is a paradise where nothing but happiness and love is allowed to enter. We live each day for one another. (Further picture drawing, if you are interested.)

And as we stand in the rays of the setting sun in the midst of a garden of roses and hedges with my arm around you, and you with a playful smile on your face telling me the unusual happenings of the day. Why I’m on the verge of creating an ideal for myself. But if you were not interested I’ll lay it to the fact that I can’t write like I can talk.

Another of my ideals is that essay on love in “Their Yesterdays.”

I sometimes wonder if that is not what I’m made of, ideals I mean. It undoubtedly constitutes a large part of my being just at present.

But what is life for if it isn’t for expectations and hopes.

Everyday that goes by I see something more in life to hope for. Something more to expect, and get as my rightful due. I am optimist enough to believe that if ambition is directed in the right way one can attain to almost anything. I tell you though little girl it is a little hard to cling to the highest of ideals and live a life like this. I have in mind a sentiment of Elbert Hubbard. He said “Grand is the man who can take the lemons that fate hands out to him and start a lemonade stand.”

Well for the love of Mike (pardon the expression) it has started to rain and it has actually thundered. Lin and I are going over home now after grain. We are getting along fine.

Well a few more interruptions. I have had three since starting so if this is a little disconnected lay it to that. I should have written this yesterday but couldn’t. Am so sorry. Wish I could see you ever so much but love you just the same. Write soon and long ones tell me more about yourself.

With worlds of love Hal__


(Photo of Western Meadowlark from flickr.com/photos/kevcole/2327954530/)

Friday, January 2, 2009

Morgan 2: Harold Morgan, April 11, 1913

Hunt Ariz.
April 11 1913

Dear Jessie:– It has been two days since I rec’d your letter. Do you think I was pleased well that don’t half tell it. It was almost like being with you, that is for the talking part, but for the other. Oh! my it was a poor excuse. But I will try and get along if you will only write.

Say little girl I was pleased to hear of that auto ride wish you could have one every day especially if it was with a married man with his wife along. The way I remember we had some pretty good rides ourselves. But I mustn’t remember anything like that now, for I’m terribly afraid of the lonesomes. But when I get with you I’ll live over every hour every minute that I’ve spent with you, every time I’ve held you in my arms and kissed you. I mustn’t think of it now or I can’t write.

Well little girl I’m alone. Lin has gone to Holbrook and left so many many things for a “green hand” to do that really I’m most frightfully busy.

But you know when one gets in the state I’m in it’s really good for them to be busy and work hard. One feels so much happier when they work. At such a time one has memories of the past just often enough to make them think good.

Well here I am giving you a little philosophy which you no doubt have known for years and years, forgive me dear won’t you.

Nothing unusual has happened in the city as yet only Harris Greer paid us a call this evening. He says St. Johns is the deadest town he ever saw and of course he ought to know being a man of wide acquaintance. I’ll venture a guess myself it’s anything but lively.

And so you’ve read everything in sight. Now that “you haven’t anything to do” I see no reason to hinder you from writting [sic] to me oftener, perhaps I wouldn’t get to answer them all but that hadn’t ought to make any difference. You know that I would if I could. But no matter how often you wrote if it was just once a month I couldn’t help but think just as much of you. Life would be a little clouded just at present I’m afraid if it were not for my ever recurring memories of you. I often wonder if I’m thought of as often or what else you think about no doubt you will tell me “some time”.

But to change the subject again, I’ve started to work with a vim.

Perhaps you know one will never work so hard as when they work for themselves.

Further than that I’m going to have an awfully sore face eyes and lips if this wind keeps up. Two weeks I’ll be so brown that if I should ride into town I’m afraid I would be under the painful necessity of introducing myself.

I don’t think you would know me now. Kakie [sic] trousers and coat a hat with a six and a half in. rim with an eight in. crown, shoes that feel like they weigh seven and half pounds a piece, feelings that you could measure in a qt. cup (at the present time I mean).

But I’ve got an ambition that you couldn’t tie with a sixty foot lasso rope in a forty acre field. Anything else don’t present it self just now or I’m afraid I would be tempted to write it. But you don’t want to be that way when you write the more you write about yourself the better I will like it. Also mention a few of our joint affairs. The times we have spent together. These have been the happiest hours of my life. Everything is so still, the frogs are singing themselves hoarse just the way they used to do when we would sit on your porch and listen to them. But I must not get to remembering to [sic] much at the present or I’m afraid I will have to leave.

Well, Udall is calling me to go with him so I will have to say goodbye yet I still could write for hours. Goodbye dearest write to me often twice a week if you can. Think of me oh so many many times. Perhaps you notice I need some practice in letter writting [sic]. Yours lovingly, Harold.


(Photo of Apache County from flickr.com/photos/nicholas_t/2089358577/)

Thursday, January 1, 2009

Morgan 2: Harold Morgan, April 6, 1913

Hunt Ariz.
April 6 1913

Dear Jessie:–

“Such a day as I have spent.” I wish you were here so that I could enumerate the many things “your true love” has done today. To begin with I walked about three miles to where Lin’s camp is, had breakfast, “chewed the rag” a little while, then hitched up the horses and moved camp about a half a mile, down to where the Little Colorado and Zuni rivers come together.

I will not tell you more, for… [missing]

But to assume a little more of an optimistic attitude toward life. I am perfectly delighted with the prospects here, almost everything in our favor. Will tell you all about it when we meet again. I wonder when, be assured though it will not be long. I can think of nothing at the present only that I love you I love you. I think of you not as a girl or as my friend but as the loveliest of women, my betrothed, (or did you tell me not yet) if so alright it shall be as you wish. But you will surley [sic] not blame me for thinking it. To be truthful I have thought it for some weeks past. But we will talk of that when we are nearer each other,

Well here I am starting another page and its just twenty nine and a half degrees below zero in this room. But I’m sure I could write to you if I were sitting on the North Pole. It seems like warm spring days are never going to come. Honestly I would prefer the hottest day in the year to one of these old windy ones. But I’ve turned optimist lately so will not complain and will think only of the future, which I have no doubt, is filled with brightness. But the present is what is worrying me. Think I will make it allright though.

Well dear remember I am ever with you in your dreams and memories. Write often think of me often as I do of you.

devotedly with love
Harold


(Lin is his brother Richard Linton Morgan. Hunt is northwest of St. Johns. When you see [sic] in a letter, that means that a word is being quoted exactly as it was in the original and it is not a typo in the transcription.)

(Photo of the Little Colorado River by flickr.com/photos/johnida/1465359971/)

The Morgan Family

Best wishes for a successful, healthy, and happy year!

Now that it is 2009, it is time to start posting the histories of the Morgan Family.

One year when I was a teenager, I went with Granny to St. Johns several days before the annual Pioneer Day family reunion. Granny's sister Helen and her husband Bill and their son Jimmy were visiting from Salt Lake City for several days.

Helen was ten years older than Granny and was born in St. Johns. If I remember right, Helen had not been back to St. Johns since she was a small child. I thoroughly enjoyed visiting with Helen and Bill and Jimmy. We saw some of the sights in the area. At that time, Helen gave me a manila folder with copies of letters her father had written to her mother before they were married. It is a beautiful correspondence and I am honored to share it with you now. I wish, of course, that we also had Jessie's letters, but I'm glad that we have as much as we do!

Tuesday, December 30, 2008

Saturday, December 27, 2008

St. Johns Overson Home

...And here is the Overson house in St. Johns. Granny's Christensen grandparents lived in a house that was torn down to build the elementary school.


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St. Johns Home

Now that I have all the Tanner files posted, I was looking online for some information to start the Morgan posts, and found that St. Johns (of all places) is on Google Street View. Many of you may recognize this home...


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Friday, December 26, 2008

George and Ann Jarvis Children


George Frederick Jarvis was ten years old when the family sailed to Boston and thirteen years old when they moved to Utah. He worked extensively on the plastering of the St. George temple. He was bishop in St. George and later patriarch and was held in very high regard in his community. He married Eleanor Woodbury and had eight children and later also married Rosinia Sylvester.

Ann Catherine Jarvis Milne was born in London and made the trip across the ocean with the family. Her biography notes that the Jarvis family also lived in Ashland, Massachusetts, for awhile. Ann was David Milne's second wife and they had eight children. She was still alive when the Jarvis book was written. She passed away in 1956 at age 109.

Brigham Jarvis was also born in Stepney, London. He married Mary Forsythe the first day the St. George temple was open and they had twelve children, seven of whom died as infants or toddlers. Brigham was involved in construction and irrigation work.

Amelia Jarvis Webb married William Webb and had twelve children, two of whom died in infancy. They were farmers and very hard workers although her health was poor throughout her life.

Samuel Walter Jarvis was the last of the children born in England. He married Frances (Fanny) DeFriez, who was the sister of our ancestor Charles Godfrey (Defriez) Jarvis. They had twelve children. Samuel married next in 1902 in Mexico to Pearl Taylor and they had seven children. The family fled Mexico in 1912 and settled in Benson, Arizona, and eventually returned to Mexico. Mary Ann Godfrey Defriez lived with her daughter Fanny and her family in the years before she died.

Margaret Jarvis was our ancestor. She was born in Boston and married in St. George to Charles Godfrey DeFriez Jarvis (he changed his name and was sealed into the Jarvis family). They had eight children and lived most of their lives in Arizona. Among the other many forms of work they did, living in a pioneer community, he trained in Chicago as a dentist and she trained in Salt Lake City as a midwife.

Elizabeth Jarvis was born while the Jarvis family was living in the Boston area. She died there at the age of four months.

Heber Jarvis was born in Salt Lake City, six weeks after the family arrived in Utah, his mother having walked almost the entire way across the plains. He settled in Arizona and married Susan Janet Smith. They lived in Snowflake, Nutrioso, Eager, and finally St. Johns. Heber and Susan had fifteen children. Heber was a member of the Arizona legislature and a firm supporter of women's suffrage.

Emmaline Jarvis Cottam was said to be the first child born in St. George. She married Thomas Cottam who later served (among other things) as President of the St. George Temple and Mayor of St. George. They had ten children.

Victoria Josephine Jarvis Miles was a school teacher for many years before marrying George Miles slightly later in life. They had seven children. Shortly after their marriage, George was called on a four year mission in the Southern States.

Thomas William Jarvis was the last child of George and Ann Jarvis. He was killed by lightning on the steps of the St. George Tabernacle on April 5, 1881, when he was seven years old.

Tanner 31: Ann Prior Jarvis

Ann Prior Jarvis
b. 29 December 1829 Stepney, London, England
m. 17 September 1846 Harlow, Essex, England
d. 10 January 1913 St. George, Washington, Utah
b. 12 January 1913 St. George, Washington, Utah
Husband: George Jarvis
Father: William Prior, Jr.; Mother: Catherine McEwan




A poem written by Clarence Jarvis and copied by Ann Prior Jarvis and sent to Margaret Jarvis Overson on the date shown on the poem.


Ann Prior Jarvis, youngest child of Catherine McEwan and William Prior, Jr., was born in Stepney, Middlesex, London, England, December 29th 1829.

Her father was a very well-to-do contractor, but when she was a young child, he had the misfortune of losing his business, home and all savings through a fire, leaving him broke and very much discouraged. He managed to obtain a hundred year lease on a small home in a poorer district of London, where Ann grew to womanhood, and where she stayed with her mother, often when her children were born or her husband off on voyages.

Her father, William Prior Jr., never really seemed to rally after his loss, but became ill, and gradually grew worse until his death, when Ann was about seven years old.

Her mother was a splendid strong character, and did all she could to raise her children well, and educate them properly, but Ann could see that her mother had to work very hard, and she would ask her mother to let her go to work instead of to school, so she might earn a little to help her mother. She went to school until she was about eleven years old, when she got work helping make shirts, thereby saving her tuition and earning about fifty cents a week. She did this for some time before her mother found it out. She saved her money and gave it to her mother. Later she was apprenticed to a dressmaker, and learned to do very fine stitching, and make her own clothes, which was useful to her all her life. She says she might have been better educated if she had stayed in school, but she was always glad she helped her mother.


At school they read the Testament, and she always wished she had lived when Christ was on the earth. She was a deeply religious nature, and the memory of that reading never left her.

When Ann was about fifteen years old she was invited to a party by her friend, Phyllis Robinson, in honor of her brother, who was just home from a sea voyage. During the party the young sailor paid no special attention to our Ann, being busy entertaining guests with stories of the countries and peoples he had visited. When she returned home her mother asked her about the party, and what she did. She answered, “I saw my future husband.” Her mother said “Silly child! I’ve never heard you speak so foolishly before.” All through life, Ann was to have “Impressions” forecasting events in her life. The young man, George Jarvis, soon went on another voyage, and was sick, lost an eye, and was in a hospital for months, and was finally sent back to London as an out-door patient, but not very long after he returned, they were married, September 17th, 1846, three months before she was seventeen. She had other beaux who tried to get her to promise them, but she knew George was the one for her.

The next great event in their lives was when elders from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints spoke on the street of the town where they lived, and George listened spellbound to all they had to say. After the meeting he went home to tell his wife what he had heard, and she listened intently, and then said, “George, it’s true!” In that was also the hand of the Lord, and showed how her impressions were right, for not one of her other suitors were known to accept the “Mormon” religion, in which they both rejoiced all their days, notwithstanding the many hardships they had to endure because of accepting it. After she had walked across the plains to Salt Lake City, and seen the prophet of the Lord, Brigham Young, she said she felt she could gladly endure much more for that privilege.

Sister Jarvis loved to sing and knew all the old English songs of her girlhood days, and loved to teach them to her children. On stormy days or cold evenings, or when she was homesick or lonely for her mother and dear ones in England, she would gather her children about her and sing to them for hours, teaching them the dear old songs, and instilling in them a love for each other and strengthening the home ties. Through the years, the home was a gathering place for the town young folks, especially those young men who were away from home working on the temple. They enjoyed the singing, and also the stories of the sea and foreign countries that brother Jarvis would tell.

She bore and reared a large family, and taught them to be industrious, self-reliant, cheerful under trying circumstances, loyal to each other, their Church and its authority, truthful, trustworthy, honest, kindly and friendly to all, loving beauty, learning and refinement, and above all, having faith in the Lord and trusting in Him for His blessings. Her faith was unbounded, and she never failed to pray and call the elders in times of sickness. She related many instances of healing in her family life. She seemed to be able to detect any wrong in her children, and they knew they could not deceive her. She died January 10th, 1913, four days after the death of her companion, after more than 66 years together.


Overson, Margaret Jarvis. George Jarvis and Joseph George DeFriez Genealogy. Mesa, Arizona: 1957, i:41–46.