Remembrances: Harriette Amelia Healey

Harriette Amelia Healey (Warnock) Martin

My Grandma Martin's remembrances are  among those papers uncovered with other family archives at the farm on our research day in November, 2019.  

I was born August 20th, 1914.  The United States entered World War I, April 6th 1917.  I was then three and a half years old.  Memories of the war years were few.  Our hired girl made a Red Cross nurse's uniform for my doll.  Mother and sister Betty were very ill with the flu.  Aunt Marie had left her work in the factory to help out.  The kitchen was so messy because the milk bottling machine was in there.  Alice and I wanted to be upstairs with Mother, but the nurse kept us out.  Alice and I did not cooperate with Aunt Marie.  We would not eat what she prepared--we even made her cry.  I recall seeing my two uncles, Ernest and Seraphin, when they came to visit with their uniforms and gas masks on when the returned after the war.

Early memories are few, but Mother had told me of the time that I was missing and was found by a neighbor asleep in the middle of the road down by Finkle's where O'Vessney's (Spelling?) now live.  I had been crying, and my face was all muddy.  I wanted to go on the horse drawn milk wagon with Daddy and followed him down the road.  I do not know how old I was then.

I must have been a determined child a I recall following Mother and Alice who went down the road in the horse and buggy, and I knew they were going to Grandma Healey's on West Street where they were taking Alice to New Haven to a doctor (where he diagnosed that she had appendicitis).  I was knocking on Grandma's back door when Mrs Adams, a neighbor, saw me.  She called me over and said they had already left.  She took me in and gave me a large ginger cookie and a glass of milk.  And, when Daddy came by with the milk wagon, she called to him and I had a ride home with Daddy.  I was about four years old then.  Grandma's house was about a mile from the farm.

I was just five years old when I entered the first grade at the one room Bungay School.  I liked school and did my lessons, and often finished before some of the others in my grade did. There were eight grades in the school, one through eight.  As I was promoted in grades, I had time on my hands and, when tired of coloring and making a scrapbook, I often got into mischief playing practical jokes. I was caught one time and admitted my guilt.  The teacher punished me by making me stay aqfter school to wash the floor which was wooden.  Alice went home md squealed on me; and, when I returned home with a muddy dress, I was really in trouble. Although Mother did complain to the superintendent of schools that the punishment was not appropriate.

Growing up on a dairy farm was an education in itself.  As soon as each of us, (after Alice and me, there were three more girls and a boy) were old enough, we had chores on the farm as well as household jobs.  The outside jobs were hard, but it was better working with Daddy than with Mother.  Mother was a perfectionist, and expected all of us to achieve perfection in our duties.

Each day, there were animals to be taken to the pasture after the five A.M. milking, and then, going after the cows in the afternoon for the evening milking.  I liked it best when, during the3 summer vacation, to get up in the morning milking and go out to the night pasture to bring the cows in.  The grass was cool with dew, and the sun would be coming up in the east making pictures in the clouds.  Of course, we had to go barefoot as we had to save our shoes for school. It was a shocker to step into a warm cow flop, but it did warm our toes.  We pitched hay on the farm wagons, and stored it away in the hay mow.  We often chided Daddy about the briars in the hay that scratched our bare legs.  But we labored on with the heat, the bees, and the sweat.  After the last load of the day, we dashed to the house for a cold glass of homemade root beer bottled in canning jars.  Daddy had his bottle of homebrew that Mother had made.

Except for staples like sugar and molasses, salt and flour, oatmeal and spices; purchased groceries were few--such as canned salmon, salt codfish, fresh fish, and hot dogs (which were a treat).  All of our vegetables and fruits were grown on the farm. Hundreds of jars of vegetables and fruit were canned; and jellies, pickles and relishes were made during the season.

Mother raised chickens, turkeys, and geese.  We had chicken every Sunday and had eggs several times a week.  Dressed chickens and turkeys were also sold to townspeople.  In the fall, we picked up hickory nuts, Mother sold many bushels each year, and we had them to eat all winter long.  The cellar bins held apples, pears, and potatoes.  It was real disgusting to go down to the cellar with an oil lamp that hardly lit the area, reach in, and stick your finger into a rotten apple.  Carrots, turnips, and cabbages were stored in sand in the cellar.  Kegs held cider and wine, the blackberry being delicious and a treat to have warm on a winter night when we had a cold and had some at bedtime.  Winter nights, we sat around the kitchen table cracking nuts and eating apples.  The stove was keeping us warm as well as drying mittens and arctics that ere draped around it.  Mother sometimes sang songs and did a jig for us.

Mother was a wonderful cook.  Every other day there were nine fresh baked loaves of bread.  It was made in a mixer the night before.  We all took a turn at turning the mixer which was attached to the kitchen table.  The bread raised overnight, and Mother often had it set in the tins and baking before we got out of bed.  I can still savor the smell.  Days when we used the last bread for supper time, we had fried bread dough for breakfast.  Oh was it good with our large bowl of oatmeal, that was cooked overnight in a large double boiler on the wood burning kitchen stove!  Many cakes, pies, cookies, and puddings came out of that oven that only had a temperature indicator in the oven door that had to be hand manipulated to make it move.

Because Daddy didn't have much help, we did not always have seasoned wood for the stove, and consequently the stovepipe and chimney would accumulate soot.  And then, when there was a hot fire, the stovepipe and chimney would accumulate soot.  And then, when there was a hot fire, the stovepipe ande chimney caught on fire.  Mother would throw salt on the fire on the stove, and then it was up on the roof to pour water down the chimney to put out the fire.  The water would then come down into the kitchen through the clean-out door.  What a mess!  One of the most embarrassing moments of my life was the day the dire was roaring up the chimney, Daddy had gone to the well for water, and I was up on the ladder on the roof to pour the water down the chimney as Alice handed it to ne from the ladder against the house.  Unbeknown to us, Mother had called the fire department, and hear I was on the roof pouring water down the chimney, and some high school students were on the truck.  They never chided me about it, but I did have a red face.

After our chores, we always had something planned for outside.  We played kick the wicket, cops and robbers, hide and seek, and so forth.  We played house, and made mud pies in baking powder can lids.  we had horses to ride, a dog, and cats for pets.  In the winter we went ice skating, sliding, and built snowmen and igloos.  After a nice snowfall we went out and got a large bowl of snow, added a little sugar and vanilla, and had ice cream.  It was good but not like the custard ice cream Mother made every Sunday during the summer for Sunday dinner.  The two of us who turned the freezer got to lick the dasher.  It was especially good when we had strawberries or bananas in it.


I guess, in comparison with today's lifestyle, we worked hard.  But we did what we were told to do and we accepted it as our way of life.  There were many good times, though, and we were active in the 4-H Club and attended many fairs with our clothing and cooking, and won prizes that we treasured.  Mother was active in the Women's Club and the Grange, and we participated in children's night programs with recitations, skits, and songs.  We even entertained Mother and daddy during noon-time rest period with short plays we had made. every year after the haying was done in the summer we went down to Savin Rock, and amusement park in West Haven.  We all saved up for the trip and went on all the rides and had ice cream and salt water taffy.  Mother and Daddy had soft-shell crabs.

Balance Rock Farm painted by "Hatch": Harriette's nickname and how she signed all of her artwork.  She was also accomplished at needlework and many other crafts, as were her sisters.  

Alice and I took piano lessons for a while.  We had a square grand piano.  It was black with four huge carved legs.  On winter nights we had to practice our lessons, the room was heated with a little kerosene heater.  We had a furnace, but only had it going for Thanksgiving and Christmas.  We needed the wood for the kitchen stove.  It was a little scary there in the parlor with the kerosene lamp and the kerosene heater which made eerie shadows on the ceiling through holes in the top.  And then the wind rattled the windows.  Sometimes Daddy would come in and sit with u.  when we had learned to play Daddy's favorite song, "Somewhere, a Voice is Calling" our practice session ended with a rendition of the song and, as I recall, Daddy sat back and enjoyed it.

When I was to enter eighth grade,  our class at bungay School was transferred downtown to the Maple Street school.  What a change!  My report card was all A's in subject matter but poor in behavior, so all three of the eighth grade teachers watched me with an eagle eye.  Because we Bungay students were far behind in subject matter than the downtown kids, at first report card I went from A division to C, but by next marking period I was back to A division.  I made new friends in town, was active in school activities in high school, and graduated with honors.  I received the Woman's Club college scholarship of a hundred dollars that included all of the Valley towns.

As I grew up, I had the thought that I would like to become a nurse, and then join the Army in hopes of perhaps doing service in some foreign country.  Whatever attracted me to either Alaska or China I don't know--perhaps looking at pictures in the National Geographic magazine that were in our attic.  We used them a lot to make our geography scrapbooks at bungay School.  However, I had a home economics teacher in high school who I thought was just the ideal young wokman, Dorothy Hughes.  She was pretty, talented, and a friend as well as a good teacher.  I did very well in her classes; and through her enthusiasm, I thought that I would like to be like her and become a home economics teacher.  At graduation, I won the home economics prize, a five dollar gold piece.

In 1931, I entered the freshman class at the Connecticut Agricultural College, and had only turned seventeen in August, becoming a college freshman in September.  I played field hockey, and made the varsity team.  I also went out for track, and did well in the standing broad jump and also took gymnastics.  Saturday night dances in the armory were the big weekly social event.  Most student went stag and enjoyed many different partners during the evening.  The big nights, however, were the junior prom and the ROTC military ball.  I was active in the women's student government association, and was an elected officer.

Harriette at Connecticut Agricultural College

After three years, my yearning to become a nurse returned, and my money, which was left to me by my grandmother, was all gone.  I had just enough left to enter nursing training and to buy uniforms at the Hartford Hospital.  Student nurses worked very hard, but I just loved it---especially obstetrics, the nursery, and pediatrics.

Harriette in her nurse's uniform

All my life, I had dreamed of the day I would become a mother.  I have never forgotten the day, when I was probably nine or ten, that I went across the street to our vegetable garden all by myself  and looked into each cabbage head looking for a baby.  Mother had told us that babies come from cabbage heads.  I had many beaus, some serious and others just fun dates.  My last year of training, I met a fellow, Sherwood Thornton Warnock, who seemed to share my ideas about a family.  We were in love, and were married the day after I finished training in 1937, in the farmhouse living room where Mother and Daddy were married.

Harriette, Sherwood "Dutch" Thornton Warnock and baby Bill

Harriette with Mother, Bill and dog

I did a few private duty cases.  We lived in the country, in Coventry Connecticut, without conveniences, but I loved it there.  (The version I am transcribing somehow omits the births of Bill in 1939 and Bob in 1942, I am inserting them here as they are crucial to the story!-WWH) Japan bombed Pearl Harbor, December 7th, 1941, and so followed World War II.  My husband was then working in Pratt and Whitney, an aircraft factory in East Hartford, but was drafted in 1943.  He entered the Navy, and was on a landing craft.  To help out with finances during the war, I took care of two babies for the child welfare department.  One was adopted, and the other was returned to the parents.

After the war, I had hoped that another baby would be a girl, but John was born September 17, 1946. However the time my husband spent in the Service did not curb his use of alcohol, and I did not want my children to be brought up in that atmosphere.  Mother and Daddy said I could come home. The children and I moved to the farm, and then I got a divorce. In May, 1948, Bill and Bob were both in school, I was asked to help out at the newly organized school lunch program.  The director was pleased with my work, and asked me to manage the cafeteria  that was to open in October at the Maple Street School.  Mother said that she would take care of Jack.  As the hours were better than if I had gone into nursing, I was also able to help pay my way by helping out with farm chores.  Then, in January 1949, when the director resigned, I was hired as the new director.  The program grew under my management, and I eventually had programs in five schools.  I became a member of the state school lunch organization; and, over the years, served in every office and became president in 1958.

The boys kept me busy with all the activities, scouting, camping, and so forth, and I was den mother for six years so that they could participate in scouting.  Bill went on to become an Eagle Scout, but Bob and Jack were not as fortunate as to have a good scout leader.  They all loved the outdoors and spent hours in the woods, bringing home baby animals and birds for me to care for.  As I have learned, it is a good thing that I was not always aware of their stunts such as grape vine swinging over a rock-strewn ravine.  Bill went to the University of Pennsylvania after high school and he graduated from the University of Connecticut and entered the Army through ROTC.  Bob joined the Navy Air Force and was crew chief on his plane.  Jack graduated from forestry school at the University of New Hampshire, went to Officer's Candidate School, and was in the Army Engineering Corps.

Jack, Bob, and Bill

Finally, I was able to get a rent downtown that I could afford.  It was there that I met and married Steve Martin, December 30, 1953.  He had three grown children, a son and two daughters.  In 1962, Mother gave Steve and me a lot on the Bungay Road, and we built a home.  It was a pre-formed house, but we did all of the other work ourselves.  I did the landscaping, and planted shrubs and flowers.  I had a vegetable garden and maintained the lawn, work that I loved a lot.  I guess, a hangover from the farm work.

Christmas 1954

We have had a good life together--been to Germany twice, traveled in the States to visit family where they lived.  Steve's son Bill, and daughter Virginia, live in California and we were there several times.  Awe visited Bill in Germany, Virginia, Georgia, Oklahoma, and Missouri; Bob in Oklahoma; and Jack in Virginia, Kansas, Indiana, Germany, Kentucky and West Virginia.  We also have travelled to Florida several times as well as to to visit family in Pennsylvania.  There are many memories of good times with family and friends, and looking forward to more as we grow older.

We are not rich and not poor.  Life has had it tough times, but they fade in the past.  I am very proud of my three sons and their families, especially since the three boys have served their country in the service.  And, I am truly blessed since they all survived their tours of duty in Vietnam.  Somewhere, in the back of my thoughts, I could recall thinking often of something that I had read but can't recall the author.  "Let me live in a house by the side of the road and be a friend to man.  I am content."

Through the miracle of Google I have found the poem and author Grandma had in mind, here it is:

The House by the Side of the Road




THERE are hermit souls that live withdrawn

In the place of their self-content;

There are souls like stars, that dwell apart,

In a fellowless firmament;

There are pioneer souls that blaze the paths

Where highways never ran-

But let me live by the side of the road

And be a friend to man.

Let me live in a house by the side of the road

Where the race of men go by-

The men who are good and the men who are bad,

As good and as bad as I.

I would not sit in the scorner's seat

Nor hurl the cynic's ban-

Let me live in a house by the side of the road

And be a friend to man.

I see from my house by the side of the road

By the side of the highway of life,

The men who press with the ardor of hope,

The men who are faint with the strife,

But I turn not away from their smiles and tears,

Both parts of an infinite plan-

Let me live in a house by the side of the road

And be a friend to man.

I know there are brook-gladdened meadows ahead,

And mountains of wearisome height;

That the road passes on through the long afternoon

And stretches away to the night.

And still I rejoice when the travelers rejoice

And weep with the strangers that moan,

Nor live in my house by the side of the road

Like a man who dwells alone.

Let me live in my house by the side of the road,

Where the race of men go by-

They are good, they are bad, they are weak, they are strong,

Wise, foolish - so am I.

Then why should I sit in the scorner's seat,

Or hurl the cynic's ban?

Let me live in my house by the side of the road

And be a friend to man.

Sam Walter Foss

38 Bungay Road, the home Harriette and Steve Martin built together.