ANNIE EASTON HOOD "MY STORY"
 A Personal History of a Scottish Settler in Wyoming,
     1874 - 1962.   
Brought to publication by Klem Irad Schneider, Great Grandson
ISBN 188810628X    Library of Congress 2002113358 
Hard Cover  6 x 9     198 pages 

  Click photo for large image.  See Page for Google, Yahoo, MSN
(no other photos of Annie or her immediate family are available)

(Note: Annie's mother was Janet Witherspoon Easton, born in the town of Clarkston near Airdrie. Her mother’s name was Janet Baff Easton.)
  
 Additional Information:  Page 1   Page 2  

Preface by Klem I. Schneider
The text of this book was transcribed from a brown soft cover book I found among my mother’s personal possessions after her death in 2001.  How or where she acquired the book, I do not know.  The pages are printed on only one side and appear to have been made by photocopying typewritten pages.  There is no information provided in the soft cover book about who compiled, printed, or published it. Also, there is no copyright notice. 

In the preface on page one, Annie requests, “If this writing should be by anyone, copied or printed, I definitely request that it shall not be added to, changed, or defined in any sense, or word whatsoever…”  Therefore, in transcribing the text, I have taken care to assure accuracy.  Nothing in the text has been changed including spelling, grammar, punctuation, syntax, and page layout with three exceptions to which I doubt Annie would object.   One is the page size has been changed from 8½  x 11 inches to 6 x 9 inches to conform to a better size for a hardbound book.  The second change is a change in page numbers to accommodate the change in page size.

The third change involves typographical errors.  I am not able to tell the difference between spelling errors committed by the author and typographical errors committed by the typist.  Care has been taken not to change spelling errors; however, obvious errors by the typist or, perhaps, those due to oversight by the author have been changed. For example: minuted was changed to minutes; ther to there; whold to whole; withing to within; the the to to the; bagan to began; opem to poem; and others.

The text was reproduced for this book by scanning each page of the soft cover book with a computerized photoscanner and then, with a computer program, converting the images to text that could be worked with on a computer word processing program.  The computer made numerous errors in making the conversion; therefore, I edited the whole text, word by word, to correct the computer’s errors.  I took care not to change anything from the original text except that which I have already mentioned.

  I am the great grandson of Annie Easton Hood.

 Annie Easton Hood was born at Wallace Stone, Sterling Shire Scotland, September 26, 1874. My Mother’s name – Janet Witherspoon Easton. Father’s name. Alexander Easton. I was, during my childhood educated in the public school, at Longrigg, Lanark Shire, Scotland, remaining in the same institution of learning from the time of entrance, "four years old" untill graduation from all grades.

We studied eleven months of each year, having four weeks during the month of July for vacation. Upon graduating, I was presented with a Bible. Listed inside the front cover were the subjects for which I stood at the top. Namely – all studies usually taught in grade school, including knitting, plain and fancy, darning, sewing, Bible knowledge, and music in Sol Fah notation. As I remember it now, I seemed to worship the principal of our school, Mr. Masterton. He was by nature a religious man, honest and fair in his decisions, but rigid in his dicipline. Our Principal was a devout Christian, and used to conduct cottage meetings in the homes of the people. In this way, I was in his company a great deal of the time, and learned to become familiar with the scriptures in my childhood. As I think back on conditions in school, as they existed then, I almost have a regret that I was educated, and reared under so much rigidity. At any rate – the Scottish schools produced fine scholars. My teacher used to impress us with this fact, namely – if a pupil can learn to read understandingly, he is in possession of a key to open the door to all other studies. I have proven this to be true.

To look back on my childhood, it all seems like a mystical. beautiful dream. The rain as it fell so softly every summer afternoon. The mosses with its verdant heather, and the foliage of the Scottish blue bells. Growing close to the ground were patches of blue berries on the moors. A man walking among the Scotch Thistles, could be hidden from sight. Fields of daisies, and buttercups were filled with morning dew. On Saturday afternoons children roamed over the moors, making skirts, capes, and hats out of the rushes that grew so tall. We gathered white pebbles from the streams, as we waded barefooted in the water. Also finding four leaved clover in the fields, or sitting under the hedges on the dike, and in the dewey mornings gathering white snails, or trying to catch black snails by the horns when pushed out of the shells they "lived in." I have learned since then that what we thought were horns, were the snails eyes, and of course we never could catch them because instantly they were withdrawn, and covered by the shell. We also collected angle worms from the clay formations found in places. Wild Bramble bushes grew in abundance, producing a plentiousness of fruit. In the early morning we listened to the birds – the lark and the Mavis, singing as they balanced themselves on their wings in the air.

And when the Sabbath day came, we kept it holy. A Scotch tradition is, to reverence that sacred day. The law required that holiness be observed on the Sabbath. The Presbytarian Church was the ruling religion of Scotland – and is today– many other churches also taught their beliefs and creeds.

My Mother was willing that I should attend any or all of the different sects in their worshipping assembles. In this way I learned about different religions. I also memorized and sang numerous beautiful sectarian hymns – which I still enjoy singing. I was now ten years old.

My last year’s accomplishments in the sewing room at school amounted to 175 – one hundred and seventy five hours work. – A man’s dress shirt, with stiff front, and cuffs, back stitched with a sewing needle by hand. One pair of pillowcases, made by hand. One Sampler, with my name embroidered in cross stitching, and bound around the edge with ribbon by hand. One square, ten by ten inches, containing four designs in fancy darning, done by hand. Also one pair of men’s socks, knitted by hand. I used to take the socks home at night to work on them. I could not keep at them for very long at one time, because my hands were almost too small to hold them up. It was then that I learned to turn the heel of a stocking, and close the toe off, to a smooth finish. These were made with two colors of yarn, Purple and White, with the strips running around the legs, and a-cross the top of the foot, while the sole was one solid color. Also the tops of the legs.

I had now finished all the work our grade school had to offer, and was scheduled for my first year in the Academy at Airdrie; but Mother was afraid, on account of my being so young, as I would have to board a railroad train each morning, and again in the evening coming home. Again my teacher offered to give me an advanced year of study under his tutorship. I was the only pupil priveleged to take the work that year. Time went on.

I was now eleven years of age, and we were leaving for America! The Elders of the Mormon church had found my Mother’s family, and brought us the Gospel. An Elder Thompson and George Frazer from Richfield Utah, were the two missionaries who brought us the Gospel message. Two of my brothers accepted the truth at once, without hesitation, Andrew, the Eldest son; and George with his wife and three children. But my Mother could not accept so readily.

I must tell you of an experience I had while very young. We had moved away from the place where I was born. WallaceStone was famous for its gooseberries. Each year a Fair was celebrated at that place. The exhibits were displayed on a slightly elevated area of ground. On the highest point, and slightly to the East, one could view a rock, surrounded by an elaborately designed strong iron fence. This stone had been preserved for an historical purpose, in honor of Sir William Wallace of Scottish military fame. Here is where he stood and directed the Battle of Stirling as it was fought and won by the Scottish army. I was also permitted, when a child to stand on that same spot. My Mother and I were there together. I am sure she visited her old home on that occasion, hoping to meet among the crowd someone she knew and loved.

As children we were taught at home, and in school, to love and revere our nations heroes, with an ever abiding constancy. All my childhood years were lived during, and under the reign of Queen Victoria of Great Britain. Our opening song each morning in school was sung in her honor.

God save our gracious Queen
Long live our noble Queen
God save the Queen
Send her victorious, Happy and glorious
Long to reign over us, God save the Queen.

Thy choicest gifts in store
On her be pleased to pour
Long may she reign.

           May she defend our laws, and ever give us cause,
        To sing with heart and voice, God save the Queen.

This was followed by prayer, next came our study of Bible knowledge, for twenty minutes. Twice each week, in the afternoon we had song practice, which consisted mostly of national, and folk songs: – Oh Rowan Tree — A Wee Bird Cam to Oor Ha’ Door – Bonnie Prince Charlie - Ye Banks and Braes O’Bonnie Doon - 0 Weel May the Boatie Row - Scots Wha Hae Wa Wallace Bled - Bonnie Annie Lawrie - and many other beautiful songs, which are dear to the hearts of the Scottish people.

As I write today my heart swells with joy for having been born in a land of rich Genealogical heritage. What a harvest of souls have been brought into the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter day Saints, from the British Isles. The Blood of Israel; The Royal family of Great Britain are direct descendants of the House of David.

One of the peculiar features in Great Britain is the established red coat, a uniform, making so remarkable a target to shoot at, and yet they have conquered wherever they have gone. Sometime the secret for this will be unfolded. The Lion and the Unicorn is their ensign. The wisdom and Statesmanship of that nation comes from having so much of the blood of Israel within its confines. I always feel that as long as Britain and America stand together we can never fail. We are affiliated to each other. We even speak the same language.

    My native land I love thee, The dearest place on earth.
    May He who dwells on high, protect, The haven of my birth. A. E. Hood

My Mother and her family lived in a small village in Scotland. It was a cosy homelike place, with its shutters and drapes on the windows. Also a wall press or cupboard to hold odds and ends, and a door which closed even with the wall. The beds were built into the walls, with an open front to each bed. These were beautifully arranged, with ruffled curtains around the openings. Wool mattresses all soft and fluffy, tossed up each morning, made the beds warm and restful. While sheets and pillowslips of genuine linen with coverlets woven in many beautiful designs, also homespun woolen blankets, afforded a bed fit for a king.

On the opposite side of each room was a built in fireplace. In the kitchen, on one side of the fireplace, a solid wall was built, about four feet high, with a smooth finished iron plate on the top which was called the "hob", where the tea kettle sang and steamed away. On the other side an iron oven was built in. The fire burned between these two sides, in an iron grate about two feet above the hearthstone, which protruded out in front of the fire place. Then a shining nickel plated oblong piece of ornamentation called a "Fender" was placed from side to side of the hearthstone, which indeed made the whole arrangement look lovely and inviting; with two large stones called "Jams", and a mantle piece to form a framework. These "Jams" were painted black, also the oven. The opposite side where the tea kettle sang, was pure white. The hearth was of fine sandstone smoothly finished. My Mother kept all these different parts always shining, also the poker and tongs. In the mornings after the boys had gone to work Ma and I browned our toast for breakfast on a wire toaster which we hung on the front of the fire place. In the evenings I often sat on the end of the "Fender" to prepare my school work for the following day. . . .

Each summer it was the custom for the people of the village to have an excursion. On one of these occassions, we visited the town of Alloway, Ayr Shire, Scotland, this being the birth place of the Scottish Poet Robert Burns. As usual I was in the company of my Mother and Brothers. At that time I was about eight years old. However I remember vividly all that happened that day. Somewhere along the line, even before I was eight, there had been built up and impressed within me, a love for the name of Robert Burns. As I approached the place of his birth I felt a sacredness prevading the surroundings as if I were walking on hallowed ground. The summer was at its best, and everywhere I looked it seemed like heaven itself to me. I approached the cottage with awe. I suppose the feeling I had was because of my having spent so much of my childhood in religious SERVICES. People were coming and going. We entered in our turn, and there we viewed everything in its rustic preservation, as it had been over a hundred years before. The heavy table where people had carved their names down through the years, but which had now been prohibited. There was the bed on which he was born, and the fireplace before which he was bathed soon after his birth. Also the rude cradle he had been rocked to sleep in. My young mind sensed the depth of it all.

That day I walked along the banks of the river Doone, and walked across the Brig’ 0’ Doone where "Maggie lost her tail." If you have never read Burn’s Poem "Tam O’Shanter." do please read it, and you will understand what I mean when I say, "Maggie lost her tail." Robert Burns was a Bard, and Poet of great profundity and depth, gifted with aptness and adaptibility. The lyrical quality of his writings are unsurpassed. His verses are rich with precious gems of wisdom. He advocated the Lords own teachings. Mark the following lines:

But pleasures are like poppies spread,
You seize the flower, Its bloom is shed.
Or, like the snowfall in the river, Profound
A moment white, then melts forever. comparison

Or like the rainbow’s lovely form
Evanishing amid the storm,
Or like the borealis race
That flits e’er you can point its place.

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The people then entered the shell house. This house was finished on the outside with shells, that sparkled brilliantly in the sun. Inside the walls were lined with mirrors. It was the custom at that time, on such occasions to offer to the guests a small glass of Scotch whisky, as a token or gesture of friendship. As the people entered the shell house they were greeted in this manner. The vessel they drank from was a minature barrel, made from hardwood and bound with golden hoops, one stave was longer than the others, by which to hold it. This was called a "Bicker". When I touched my lips to it the taste made me shiver. We then went into the garden of Statues where sat "Tam O’Shanter" and "Sooter Johnie", each holding a mug of "Ale" all chiseled out of stone. They looked real enough to seem alive. We also saw Burn’s sweetheart, Bonnie Mary of Argyle, and many other noted characters in the garden of statues. Sometime I would like to return there and live it all over again. But there is one I would miss – My Mother. The time was now growing late. We walked over to a farm house close bye, and had strawberries, freshly picked from the garden, served with sugar and cream. Soon we were on our way home by train.

I must say too that we visited the "Auld Alloway Kirk" where the "Deil" played his bagpipes. He blew his pipes and girt them skirl "Til roof arid rafters a’ did ‘din." And sure enough after more than a hundred years, there stood the old church without the sign of a roof. It was a day never to be forgotten.

As a child I visited some of the principal cities of Scotland. Edinburgh the Capitol of Scotland, Glasgow only twenty miles from where we lived, and Paisley where the beautiful Paisley shawls are woven, also Slamanon, and Airdrie, close to where my Mother was born. The little village we lived in was named Longrigg, a mining town. My people were miners by trade.

(Note) My Mother: Janet Witherspoon Easton was born in the town of Clarkston near Airdrie. Her Mother’s name was Janet Baff Easton.

Every morning Ma and I ate our breakfast bye the fire-side. She curled my hair in ringlets of gold, and then I was off to school. The quaint old clock was chimeing eight, and I had nearly three fourths of a mile to walk. The home of the mine Superintendent was built of stone. On a smooth space above the front door was carved the date of the year in which the house had been built "1844". As I passed there every morning, also on returning every afternoon, I read that date. It became so imprinted on my mind that even today, in the year 1956, whenever I read the figures ‘l844’ I can still see it above the Superintendents front door, and those memories fill my soul with gladness.

The clock hung well up on the kitchen wall; a round clock with a long swinging pendulum. Two long brass chains attached in some manner to the clock hung close to the wall. On the ends of these chains were two highly polished brass weights. At night one was down, and the other was up. Mother pushed the lowest one up and the other one down. In this way the clock was wound for another twenty four hours. Numerous times I have watched that pendulum swing and tick away the hours. It seemed to me like a living thing. I used to say to myself at the weekend – the clock and I are starting a new week tomorrow. Sometimes it would stop from the dust and smoke setting into its small wheels. Then Mother would oil it with a feather dipped in coal oil. That did the trick, and I imagined my friend the clock seemed happier, ticking away and chiming the hours. There being no small children in our home, I regarded the clock as a companion. On certain days my Mother went out very early to do her shopping. The store was over a mile away. On these occasions I was alone.

I seated my imaginary children on chairs and instructed them how to tell time. Often when having the opportunity of being alone, I would give myself a vigorous workout in singing. Mother never knew about these special practices. A cat or dog was never allowed in our home. I learned to entertain myself and was never lonesome.

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