I think we're related (What People Talk About)....Natalie Belliveau & Lange Amirault (52 Ancestors - #21)

A few years ago Aunt Mal (Marilyn (Amirault) Lima) passed this 1950's Boston Globe article on to me. Admittedly I've missed placed it and last Wednesday she brought me yet another copy because I want to prove my lineage to these two people. The story of Natalie and Ange is a true beautiful love story that occurred during the exile of the Arcadians from Nova Scotia and it ends so happily.


I've tried to find the article in order to give appropriate credit with no luck.

I'm sure they are my ancestors because I have other Jacques and Ange Amiraults in my maternal grandfather's line. If I go back a bit further I'm sure I'll find the connection. Well, researching this connection will be my summer project!

Harry Amirault - The Perfect Dad (52 Ancestors - #20)

Harry Amirault was my maternal grandfather who I never met because he passed away many years before I was born.  My grandmother, Mary Griffin Amirault, told me so many detailed stories about how wonderful he was and showed us so many photographs of him that I feel that next to her, he is the one I know best!  He should have been one of the first ancestors who I wrote about, but I wanted this story to originate from one of his five daugthters.  His now 83 year old daughter, Geraldine Amirault Mortland (Aunt Geri) was gracious enough to share her memories. Harry must have been the perfect dad because these memories of Harry were of when Aunt Geri was a mere 9 year old! So here are the wonderful memories of her beloved father.



Harry Amirault

"When I remember my father, Harry Lawrence Amirault (also Henri Laurent Amirault - b. 03 June 1901), every memory is a happy one.  He was devoted to my mother, my sisters and me.  In the town where we lived, my parents were well-known and highly respected and thought of.

My 83-year-old memory recalls firstly Dad's taking us all to the beach or a country area for a picnic.  We all wore swimsuits to the beach and his was what was worn by men and boys in that era (1930s) - a one-piece suit that went over the shoulders with shoulder straps.  Ours were the same style.  He tried to teach us to swim but we were not good students at that time.  Perhaps I was three or so.

Being gifted musically to no end, he would tap dance on the hardwood floor for us, play the piano which he played 'by ear' whenever he had a little time, and was also very adept at playing the banjo and fiddle.  He could not read a note of music but when I took piano lessons at age five, he could tell from a different room when I had struck a wrong key.  He headed up a musical band that would practice at our house for playing at weddings and such, and I would sit unseen at the top of our stairs just to listen to him and his fellow musicians play great stuff.


Harry with three of his 5 daughters about 1935
(Joan (L), Marilyn (center) and Geri (R)

Dad came to the USA as a young man, 17 or so, from Pubnico, Nova Scotia, Canada.  His home there was on a dirt road and they lived by the soil with one milking cow.  As a child, he and his father played the music at local dances, his father on the piano and Dad on the fiddle.  After he worked in Virginia at a shipyard for a spell, his cousin Fred, who owned and ran a repair garage which also sold new cars and appliances, gave him a job.  That's when he moved to North Weymouth (MA) and later met Mom at a dance in Boston.  She, too, was full of rhythm and they went dancing every week after that, even after they were married.  That's the only time we had a babysitter, every Friday night.  (married 10 August 1929)

Dad patiently taught me to ride a two-wheel bicycle in the garage.  His nature was such that he didn't get excited when I did the wrong thing, he just corrected me and had me try again.  The lesson was a success.  In our home, my sisters and I never ever heard a cross word spoken, any display of temper, or a cuss-word spoken.  At the time, we didn't realize how blessed we were, but as we matured, it became obvious.  Our kitchen was small, so Mum would feed us supper first so she and Dad could eat together and talk over the day.  While we were at the table, he would come in to Mom greeting him at the kitchen door, lift her off the floor in a hug, and proclaim, "This is MY mama!", to which we would all chime in to say, "No, she's not!  She's OUR mama!"  His Tante (Aunt) Anty once told me that in her life, she had never met a better-natured person than Dad and his sister Grace (who also died young).  I can see why she thought that.


Mary kissing Harry (early 1930s)

In winter, Dad would take Joan and me up to Whitman's Pond in East Weymouth to ice skate.  having grown up with winter sports, he was very good at them.  he had fashioned a huge device made from an indoor stair railing with a strong sail attached, and all you had to do was hang onto the railing, aim the sail, and the wind took us all over the frozen pond!  All the young boys crowded around and Dad always wound up taking them for rides around the pond.  He loved kids, and took us with him whenever he had to drive on an errand.  He was a doll!

Dad learned to pray in French, and every morning after breakfast, just before he left for work, he would kneel, work hat in hand, by a window in the kitchen to say his morning prayers - in French.

Dad had several French-Canadian cousins and friends in the Boston area, so every Sunday afternoon, we were all guests at one of their homes or they came to ours.  mom would dress us in pajamas and our host would offer the big bed to us so we could sleep while they visited and talked.  On going home from a visit, Dad would carry each one of us and place us in the back seat of his big old Dodge, where we slept, and carried each of us to our beds upon arriving home.

While Joan and I were still small, we would flank each side of Dad on the divan (couch), armed with combs, barrettes and ribbons.  We would each work a side of his head and do our thing while he went fast asleep.  He loved it.l  When we were in grammar school, we had to walk past the garage where Dad worked and he would come out to greet us on the way.  it never failed, we always asked him if we could have a penny (for penny candy, plentiful then).  While fishing for pennies in his coveralls, he would say, "For crying out loud, you kids must think pennies grow on trees!" but we got them - every time!!



Harry - I believe while still in Pubnico

My parents were devout Catholics and never missed Mass or Holy Days.  Dad even sang in the choir at St. Jerome's church.  When he became quite ill and was in bed at home, the priests used to come up and spend some time with him catting, etc.  On Sundays, Mom would have us all bathed, shampooed and dressed - in the car - she and we would be waiting for Dad who was probably still shaving.  He used a straight razor and had a strop hanging in the corner behind our white lion-clawed iron tub.

On Sunday mornings, when he didn't have to be at work, I remember his tapping out musical rhythms with his fingernails on the headboard of the bed before he had to get up.

Dad loved and respected his entire family and it was a lesson to me that you start with family and end with family.  Two of his sisters nursed him day and night at home during his worst and final days before passing away (from cancer).  He was part of a very loving family, and a large one at that!  My sisters and I, as did he and Mom, spent some wonderful time with them over the years and now stay in touch with their families.

Harry's obituary - Weymouth News & Gazette - October 10, 1941

Last, but not least, Dad had a great sense of humor and a hearty laugh.  He had a great smile, though photos that we have of him do not show that side of him.  It is a huge pity that his baby daughter Judy never got to know him at all as she was an eight month old infant when the Lord took Dad.  He was only 40 (d. 3 Oct 1941); Mom was 36 and left with five girls to raise, and without the only love of her life (she always said there was no one for her when she had already had the best guy).  He has been so missed.  Tante Augusta, Dad's eldest sister, once said to me of my children, "Wouldn't Harry have loved those boys!"  He died when I was nine."  He really was a perfect dad!



Harry's Prayer Card - 1941

NOTE:  Thank you so much Aunt Geri for your willingness to write about your dad and share it with us! 

Where is Onesippe? Charles Onesippe Boudreau (52 Ancestors - #19)

Charles Onesippe Boudreau is amongst the missing.  To step back let me give you a little background.  When Charles Onesippe Boudreau was born on August 5, 1843, in Wedgeport, Canada, his father, Felix, was 38 and his mother, Genevieve, was 27. He married Johanna Sheehan on January 20, 1873, in his hometown at St. Michael's RC Church. They had seven children in 11 years.

Some of my aunts and my cousin Pat filled me in in some if his story. He was a ship captain out of Tusket Wedge (Near Yarmouth, Nova Scotia). At some point in 1885 he took sick, ended up in a "mental hospital" and rumor had it that he died from a brain tumor. Our trail stopped there.

In 2012 my aunts, a cousin and I decided to take a road trip to visit family in Dartmouth and Middle East Pubnico, Nova Scotia. While we were up there my Aunt Marilyn and I visited the Nova Scotia Archives (NSA) in Halifax hoping to discover where we might find Onesippe's grave. NSA was quite a place and it was not from a lack of resources that we were unable to find out what happened to my x2 great grandfather. We were just not looking in the right place.

Fast forward a few months...my aunt hired a professional genealogist from Halifax, NS to see if they might have better luck. Well did they ever. We now have his patient file from Mount Hope Asylum in Dartmouth.

He died in February 1886 in Dartmouth, Canada, at the age of 42.  The whereabouts of where he was buried remains a mystery to this day!

Thomas Nickerson - The Very First (52 Ancestors - #18)

While in Cleveland last week I noticed they had quite a grand cemetery.  It was so beautiful as we drove past I texted a close friend who knows my tree as well as she knows her own and I asked her if I had any relatives buried in Cleveland as I so wanted a reason to go poking around the stones.

Prior to starting to REALLY research my family I knew of The Nickerson Family Association (http://nickersonassoc.org) located in Chatham, Massachusetts.  It has been a wonderful resource for me as they assisted me in identifying my lines to the Mayflower (Steven Hopkins) and to the Daughters of the American Revolution.  My Uncle Joe had their original black binders of all Nickerson's (there were about six of them).  That publication morphed into encyclopedic books that are worth their weight in gold.  I have two of the books detailing the various lines and they are now in the process of writing additional books.  My only regret is that the Association is located quite a distance from my home.  The bonus is that their website is pretty robust and they are very responsive when you write.

The Nickerson Family "Encyclopedia"

Their first book, "The Nickerson Family: Parts 1-3" really gives great information about how the Nickerson name evolved as well as the meaning of the name.  They have old maps in the book, some pen and ink photos, a great Nickerson shield and a well researched family genealogy.

The book talks about my 12th great grandfather Thomas Nickerson and it states:  "Thomas Nickerson born in Norwich, England about 1515 was a plaintiff in Chancery in 1568.  He was buried at St. John's Timberhill, Norwich, February 25, 1584-5.  He married MARGARET RUDD, daughter of Richard of Norwich; issue, a son" whose name was also Thomas.   

NOTE:  If you are a Nickerson who is even remotely interested in genealogy, The Nickerson Family Association is very much worth joining and their books are a great buy.  The Association has a reunion each year which I'm looking forward to attending soon.  It looks like great fun.  When I was down there researching my family last fall I met one woman who was my 7th AND my 8th cousin and another person who was my 8th cousin!  How cool, right!? 

The Fukkers (52 Ancestors - #17)

This week is going to be short, sweet and a slight repeat!  Here I am sitting in Cleveland for work and under the gun because it is 8:28pm on Tuesday evening and I only have until midnight to get my 52 Ancestors blog in for this week.  I've been struggling about who I should write about this week.  I even posted on my Face Book asking for suggestions.  Then it hit me, I'm going to write about Harry Jones.

Harry Jones was the third husband of Emily VanCauwenberge, and my husband Bud's great step grandfather.  I've already mentioned him in my earlier story about Emily, but unless you read it closely, you may have missed Harry's original last name was not always Jones.

Harry Jones was born in London. According to my professional genealogist, Liz Barnett, who helped me with this particular person, "despite his British name, Harry was the son of Dutch parents, Hendrikus and Johanna (Versluis) Fukker, who at his birth were living in the Mile End Old Town section of London's East End. Young Harry had arrived in New York with his mother and several siblings in February 1903 from Liverpool on the SS "Umbria", joining his father, a cigar-maker born in Rotterdam in 1872. The Fukkers had married and had a first child in Holland before moving to England, where several of their children were born from 1896-1901. Harry's birth (as Henry Fukker) was registered in 1898. The elder Henry Fukker moved to Boston in August 1902, preceding his family. Given their similar origins and profession it is very likely the two families, [the VanCauwenberges and Fukkers] knew each other in England and certainly in Boston. By 1910 the Fukkers (or Jones as they were called in the census, though still Fukker in the Boston City Directory) lived in the 14th Ward, on Burnham Place. Harry's father formally changed the family name when he applied for US citizenship in 1915; as a minor, Harry was included in Henry's naturalization."

Harry married Emelie in 1918 and by the laws of the time, she automatically became a US citizen, and never had to apply in her own right. At the 1940 census Emelie (now Emily) and Harry lived in South Boston on East Fifth St.; Harry worked as a driver for a coal company. In their household was their son, Harry, Jr. aged 12, and Emily's widowed son, Oscar Bruynell (here confusingly called Harry's "son-in-law" and named Oscar "Brown"). 

Harry, died of heart disease in November 1963 while living at 48 Newport St. in Dorchester.

Note:  I'm guessing Harry's dad must have had the same problems and some snickers with his name both in London and here in Boston.  Even back at the turn of the century when you would think there may have been a little more decorum.  Harry 's family must have some stories to tell if they were here today.

Catharine "Joe" Leggett - A Spicy 1920s Love Story (52 Ancestors - #16)

After telling Oliver's story last week my mom's cousin Dotti dropped me a note saying that one of my future stories needed to be about "Joe" Leggett. She went on to tell me about my maternal great grand aunt, Catherine Josephine Leggett (aka "Joe). After reading what Dotti told me about her, I felt an urgency to write about Joe and I thought that there is no time like the present!!

Catharine Josephine Leggett was born on a cold Boston, January day in 1885 to William and Honora (Marnell) who were immigrants from St. John's, Newfoundland. She grew up with at least two sisters, Elizabeth (my maternal great grandmother) and Mary as well as two brothers, James and William. Catharine was second youngest.

Many knew her by "Joe" Leggett, including my cousin, my mom and my aunts.  It is not clear when she adopted her nickname.  As of the 1920s US Census, Joe was living with her sister Mary, brother-in-law John McDonough and her mother Honora on Second Street in South Boston.  She listed herself as a machine operator in a hosiery factory.  When asking folks what she was like or what she looked like, they all fondly remembered her being a tall thin woman with strawberry blond hair.  She was quite likeable and lived around the corner from my grand aunt Cassie (Griffin) Hurl.  From what I hear she loved to dress to the nines!  Wish I had a photo!!
 

1920 Census Listing the Leggetts (snippet taken from my tree in Ancestry.com)

This is where the story gets interesting!  According to my cousin Dotti, "Joe was the first forelady (aka: female foreman) in a stocking factory on B Street in Southie."  I tried to find a photo or the name of the factory with no luck.  Apparently a female foreman was unheard of for the time!  She was a modern woman of the 1920s, listed as single in the 1920s census, but not for long!

At some time between 1920-1924 Joe had an affair with a married man, Francis (Frank) Leo Cotter, who had an upper management job at the hosiery factory. He was so smitten with Joe that he decided to divorce his wife and marry her.  They were still married in the 1930s and 1940s US census and without children.  It did not seem that he was working as of the 1940's census and it showed that he was several years younger than Joe.

Sadly, Joe died in 1949.  I'm not sure of the cause of her death, but as any good genealogist would do, I'll research the death certificate next time I visit the Vital Records Office here in Boston.  

Note: If Joe were alive today, I would want to know what it was like to be a female foreman back in the 1920s.  I'm pretty sure her pay was not that of her male counterparts.  I would also like to know what happened to Frank's first wife and children.  Today families of divorced parents can find a way to get along for the sake of their children, but I wonder if that was the culture back then??  If anyone has photos of the B Street Factory or where I might be able to find that building, please email me at kbruynell1@gmail.com.  I would especially like to thank my cousin Dotti (Hurl) Cucinatta for her contributions to this story!!

Oliver Amirault - He Died Where?!? (52 Ancesters - #15)

"He died where?!?" Was my initial thoughts and maybe (ok definitely) a few chuckles. This sad tragedy got me thinking about my family whom I've always had the impression that they were perfect.  Every last one of them.  Since starting my exploration of my family history and some more reflection, I've decided that yes, indeed, my family is perfect because they are my family.  Events that happened in the past, such as unwed mothers or alcoholics, were simply hidden or not talked about in the family.  Someone who was close to the family probably didn't know what I know today as hindsight is 20/20. These same unfortunate situations now have more acceptance today as well as social support.  We are so lucky to live in today's day and age in many ways.  We are also fortunate to know the person behind these unfortunate situations was really a good person.

With all this said, my 1st cousin (x2 removed) Oliver Joseph MALONE Amirault was one of those unfortunate souls and I would like to honor him by writing his story. As you can see from his photo he looked quite distinguished and handsome.


Oliver Joseph MALONE Amirault
courtesy of Lea d'Entremont 

Oliver was born October 21st, 1894 in Pubnico, Nova Scotia. As you may recall from my previous posts, Pubnico is a very small fishing village about 25 miles from Yarmouth. It is my understanding that there were many dirt roads up that way up until the late 1920s. My mom and aunts remember visiting there many summers as children during the 1940s. Many families had their own cows, pigs and chickens.  If nature called, my mom said she would have to brave her way through the barn yard animals to get to the smelly outhouse. On Sunday one of the villagers would put wooden benches in the back of their truck and drive around the village collecting a coin to drop them safely at Immaculate Conception Church which was located on the east side of Pubnico.

Most of my Canadian family were called by their middle names, however, friends and family called Oliver by his nick name, MALONE.  In looking back at the name for that era, I'm thinking maybe he was good at playing baseball as a youngster and was named after a famous baseball player of the 1920s? 

In 1915 he traveled to the U.S., according to border-crossing documents, and lived in Boston for some time.  As of, June, 1917, he listed himself as short and slender with blue eyes and brown hair when he registered for the WWI draft.  He listed his occupation as "painter".  I'm not sure if it was while he was in the "States" or when he returned to Pubnico, that he took a liking to his moonshine. 

According to his niece, Lea d'Entremont (who helped me last week with Laurie Amirault)
"Uncle Malone was somewhat of an alcoholic and he was living in the homestead with Ernest [his brother] and Alma [his sister-in-law] and of course Alma was always growling at him because of his drinking. One day he was at a store and this lady asked about Alma and he answered "if ever she gets ill and asks for a drink, she'll be mighty thirsty before I bring her a drink!"  He drank but he was not always 'drunk' and I guess he was very comical. I just remember seeing him a couple of times before he left Pubnico. One of those times was one Easter day.  Mom looked out the window and said to dad, 'here comes Oliver and he seems to be sober.' He [Oliver] came inside and after they talked a bit dad offered him a drink!! I'll never understand that move as long as I live, to me it didn't make any sense at all and it still doesn't. I was only 4 or five at that time but I remember it very well." Lea goes on to write that "After he left Pubnico he worked in the Annapolis Valley as a painter for years and never came back home."

According to his death certificate he was missing from May 14th, 1955 until they found him on May 25th, 1955.  The excerpt below, from his death certificate states "This man disappeared May 14/55.  Found dead in a water closet May 25/55.  No evidence of external injury.  Death due to 1. coronary thrombosis [heart blockage], 2 or cerebral hemorrhage [bleed in brain], 3 or subarachnoid hemorrhage [bleed in spine?]."  Yes, my cousin died in an outhouse and was there 11 days before anyone found the chap.  Poor Oliver was brought back home to Pubnico to be buried but it was a closed casket. 

https://www.novascotiagenealogy.com/

So this is Oliver's story.  He traveled, worked, was a funny guy, never married but had lots of family as well as a sad alcohol addiction.  Oliver will be remembered and appreciated just because he was my cousin and he was perfect in my book!

NOTE: Thank you again to Lea d'Entremont for her contributions to Oliver's story and the photo of her Uncle "Malone".  Oliver never married and I wonder if he had married if maybe he would have avoided the hooch and may have been found in the outhouse sooner.  If AA was available to him maybe this unfortunate ending could have been avoided??