Beyond the South End

 

Virginia Dare Winchenbaugh Poletti

December 7, 1911 – May 18, 2014

She taught us how to grow old gracefully.

 

 

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.