It is with a very heavy
heart that I bring you the news of the death of our dear Aunt Virginia, who passed
away on May 18. I have written about her several times in this blog space. You
can read about her in the archives for 2010, 2011, and 2013. Today I would like
to give you an overview of the full life she enjoyed and some of my memories of
her.
Virginia Dare (named
after the historical woman of that name) was born in Dutch Neck, the third
daughter of Herman and Carrie Winchenbaugh. The family, which eventually
numbered nine children, moved to the West Meadow Road in Rockland when Virginia
was a small girl.
Her father, Herman, held
several jobs in the community; was a lay preacher and also studied for the law,
becoming a justice of the peace. He finally made his money in real estate and
at one time owned five cottages in Spruce Head. He and his wife Carrie once
owned and lived in the Berry House, now the Berry Inn. My family and Aunt
Virginia and her husband, Constantine, bought four of the cottages from the
estate and spent many happy summers next to each other on the shore of Seal
Cove.
Virginia went to school
at the Benner Hill School and later at Rockland High School on Lincoln Street.
She and my mother walked all the way from West Meadow Road to go to high
school.
This is a formal picture
of Aunt Virginia’s family. I will take a stab at identifying all of them. On
the floor I believe is the two youngest boys, Emmanuel and Exavier; sitting
left to right are my mother Evangeline (named for the poem), Grandmother Carrie
and Grandfather Herman holding the youngest child, my Aunt Eleanor; and
Virginia on the end. Standing in the back are the four oldest boys and I don’t
know which is which: Benedict, Ensign, Basil and Gabriel. Don’t you love all
those Bible names?
Of all these people,
Virginia was the last survivor. In fact I think the youngest here, Eleanor, was
the first of the children to die when she was in her forties. My grandfather
may even have still been alive then.
In December of 2010, I
wrote a story to go along with her birthday story that year called, “What was
Virginia’s Landscape Like in 1910?” I’ll recap some of that story here and you
can read the rest if you like from the archives.
In the early 1900s when
Virginia was born, Rockland was a big limestone center. Virginia might very
well have seen horses and buggies hauling limestone down to the shore to be
burned and put on the ships in the harbor to be sent all over the world. Those
quarries up on the Old County Road have been recorded as the deepest in the
world.
The harbor itself was
full of all manner of ships from big schooners and steam ships to pleasure
boats. The harbor is once again full of ships of the pleasure kind and the last
time I spent with Aunt Virginia my sister-in-law and I took her for a ride down
along the harbor to see all the boats in the water. She was amazed.
In 1911, the year Aunt
Virginia was born, President William Howard Taft was in the White House. Daily
life was sometimes hard. Wood stoves kept you warm in winter and wood was used
in cook stoves; everyone had wells; no one had inside running water; and no one
had inside plumbing; and everyone had outhouses.
Rockland had a Poor
House and a Pest House, both self-explanatory. The Pest House was used to
isolate people with communicable diseases, of which tuberculosis was probably
the most prominent.
The
Adult Years
I have outlined her
adult years in stories past. The best way to sum them up is by the two poems I
wrote about her on the occasion of her 100+ birthdays in December. You can read
the rest in the archives if you wish. I don’t think this first poem made it to
the blog as I can’t find it there.
When
I’m One-Oh-Two
If I live to be 100
I’ll…
Never forget this day.
If I live to be 101
I’ll…
Never forget this day.
If I live to be 102
I’ll…
Never forget this day.
I’ll never forget the
day I met the love of my life…
Constantine Poletti.
I’ll never forget the
day the war ended…
And the boys came home
to stay.
I’ll never forget the
day I married…
And living on 5 Francis
Avenue.
We climbed those stairs
every day…
And made a home for Miss
Witchet downstairs.
I’ll never forget the
cottage in Spruce Head…
And enjoying the summer
living next door to my sister.
I’ll never forget the
evenings of “Spit on your neighbor”…As we four sat and played cards of an
evening.
I’ll never forget the
family gatherings…
And the meals eaten
while sitting at the picnic table.
I’ll never forget
“Papa’s Recips”
And the cocktail hours
we enjoyed.
I’ll never forget the
love of my family and friends…
And how much I’ll enjoy
turning One-Oh-Three!
Five Francis Avenue was
the apartment building in Quincy, Mass. where they lived. Uncle Mac worked for
the post office. They eventually bought the place. Miss Witchet was one of
their residents. The apartment was rented to her but she never lived in it.
When family came to visit the Polettis they sometimes ended up in Miss
Witchet’s to sleep. “Papa’s Recipe” is taken from the Walton’s show on T.V. It
was the illegal hooch the old ladies sold and called “Papa’s Recipe,”
supposedly used for medicinal purposes.
The one time I came back
alone with them to visit in Quincy, was the only time I can remember ever
getting homesick. I don’t even remember why, but they ended up having to take
me home not soon after we got there.
When
I’m One-Oh-Three
(First 6 lines the same
as the previous poem.)
Well today I’m 103…I’m
still here.
A child born in the
winter,
Who remembers winters at
the top of Kiln Hill
On the West Meadow Road.
We were a big family of
Winchenbaughs.
Six boys, three girls.
The horse and buggy
couldn’t hold us all
As Molly trudged up that
hill.
We all lagged behind.
Summer or winter we
trudged.
Times were sometimes
harsh,
But our faith kept us
going.
Until one by one we came
down that hill
To follow our own paths
To climb our own hills
in life.
I found love at the
bottom of the hill.
His name was Constantine
Poletti,
I called him Con.
Others called him Mac.
He was a Navy man come
to town.
I turned 31 on December
7, 1941.
That day lived on
forever in my memory
As a day I’ll never
forget
My own special “Day of
Infamy.”
I followed my Navy husband
All over the country
During a war that
brought
More hard times
But also good memories
of the
People we met along the
way.
Years passed as we
retired
Traveling to Florida and
Back to the cottage in
Spruce Head, Maine
I’ll never forget those
days.
And who knows?
Maybe we’ll all meet
here
Next December 7
When I’m One-Oh-Four.
Spruce
Head
Some of my fondest
memories are of the times I spent with my family at the cottage in Spruce Head.
We always waited with great anticipation for the arrival of Virginia and Mac
for the season. At first when they all
bought the cottages Virginia and Mac were still working and could only stay for
a couple weeks. Retirement brought much joy to my mother and father and
Virginia and Mac as they got to spend much more time together.
Top picture, the cottage in Spruce Head,
bottom, Virginia and Mac in Spruce Head, circa 1970s
The sisters,
Evangeline and Virginia sitting
on the “whale rock” in
Spruce Head watching the surf.
This is my favorite
picture of the two of them. Being within listening distance of some of their
conversations was often a laugh riot. I don’t think either of them could swim
but this rock is within wading distance from the shore. They made it a point
each year to go “wading” at least one time during the summer. I think this was
their yearly “swim” here.
She
taught us how to grow old gracefully
Aunt Virginia taught us
all how to grow old gracefully. Right up until her last days, she had her hair
done every week and she never would let it go gray. As I remember she would say
“there’s no need of it.” She was always neat and clean and presentable, a real
lady.
We who have the
Winchenbaugh blood in our veins, especially the women, have looked at her in
the past few years and wondered if we can grow old and be as graceful as she
was. We wonder that if we make it to One-Oh-Three will we be as in good
condition as she was.
Aunt Virginia never had
children but she considered all of us her children, especially after the death
of my mother. Besides Me, Brother Ted, and Sister Sara Tavares, she had many
other “greats.” At 103 she also had two great-great-great-great nieces, Alyson
and Kaitlin Sylvester.
She was a special lady;
one of great spirit, who lifted us all up when need be. She will be missed.
She always quoted this
piece from Shakespeare’s Macbeth up until her last days. She only said the last
part which starts with “Life’s but….”
Here’s the whole quote.
It pretty much sums up her outlook on life.
“Tomorrow and tomorrow
and tomorrow,
Creeps in this petty
pace from day to day.
To the last syllable of
recorded time.
And all our yesterdays
have lighted fools
The way to a dusty
death. Out, out, brief candle!
Life’s but a walking
shadow, a poor player
That struts and frets
his hour upon the stage
And then is heard no
more: it is a tale
Told by an idiot, full
of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.”
Reading
over the phone
I used to read Aunt
Virginia stories I had written, often from this blog, over the phone. I
actually read my entire novel to her before anyone else read it, again over the
phone. She acted as my editor and sounding board and I would often come upon
something I needed to fix as I read to her. She kept this all secret until the
book was finally published. As I understand it, the nurses with her at night
before she died, used to read my book to her. I thank them for that and it
gives me some comfort to know that some of the last words she heard may have
come from me.
Thanks for listening,
Aunt Virginia. We’ll always love you.
