Ivadel's Memoir Ends with World War I and a Poem

Some Church Memories by Ivadel

The church supper was another function carried on mostly by the women. Because I was an Episcopalian I knew about their chicken pie suppers. Mother made a pie in a large granite pan, placing the chicken in the bottom and covering it with a biscuit dough. She cooked potatoes and pies which were carried to the parish house, where the tables had been set up and each lady had taken her own table cloth, decorations, jellies, pickles and anything she had to make her table attractive. They prided themselves on their arrangements and personal contributions.

For weeks before the bazaar, committees had worked to make candy, fancy articles and aprons to sell. We even made little cardboard boxes and decorated them with crepe paper to hold the candy. (And remember we did not have scotch tape or staples in those days.) These church suppers were a part of the development of the new community.

We had church socials, so called because people came together in a private home for an evening of games, entertainment and refreshments. There was a small charge, 25¢, if my memory is correct. The entertainment was strictly amateur and I remember well that my brother John and a friend, Charles Proctor, played a selection on their violins while I accompanied them [on the piano] at one such social. Another time I played “The Storm” and I am sure the rumbling of the thunder on the old piano must have been a great performance. You can imagine the work involved for such an affair – cleaning, adjusting furniture to take care of the crowd and the serving of coffee and cake to all. The little money obtained was surely earned by the hostess and committee. As I remember, no one seemed to think much about it at the time.

Ivadel ends her memoir:

We really had neighbors in those days -- people who shared our sorrows as well as our joys and where welfare was rarely heard of. Somehow families took care of their own and hardship was part of the lives of most of us. Few of our homes had furnaces and the big baseburner was put up in the living room every fall and taken down in the spring. It was a beautiful monstrosity of iron and nickel with isinglass in the doors. In the spring my mother removed the nickel collar and foot rests and stored them in the house. The chassis was carried out to the barn by placing 2’x4’s on either side. (Two neighbors helped us, because my brothers and I were too young to help much). [Ivadel's father died when she was not yet 2 years old, with two brothers not yet 9 years old.]

Pocohontas coal, if we could get it, was poured into the top of the stove, fell down into the grate where it glowed and set forth its warming comfort, then the ashes fell into a pan at the bottom. Needless to say we spent most of the time near the stove during the cold weather.

The First World War set our simple country town into a state of anxiety. Our friends and relatives of military age enlisted or were drafted into the service. Many trains carrying troops passed though Dearborn on their way from Camp Custer at Battle Creek to embarking points and sad scenes were witnessed as the boys tried their best to wave a last goodbye from the platform of the train. Some threw their hats and others notes to loved ones.

Two of our boys did not come home to enjoy the celebrations and joyful occasions after the Armistice -- Walter Blankertz and Fred Kachafkey.

I shall never forget the great excitement when word came that Germany had surrendered; offices and factories closed, clerks left their places in the stores and those of us who could went to Detroit where the streets were jammed with people milling around in the greatest of hilarious excitement. Everyone let themselves go and entered into the happy occasion. Now, we had only to wait until our boys came home. [Her brother John was wounded in the war, met a nurse while recovering, and married her. They lived just south of Sacred Heart Church on N.Military.]

I have enjoyed thinking about these childhood experiences and I hope I haven’t bored you with my personal stories. I think it would be wonderful if each of you would write about your early memories, so that they may not be lost. To close, I would like to read a poem written by Anne Campbell and published on March 4, 1964 in the Detroit News:

“Do You Remember?”

by ANNE CAMPBELL

Whenever you start a sentence

With “Do you remember?”

It means a parade back

Through the cheerful years,

Recalling many a bright June

And December.

Feeling the warmth of joy

To still our fears.

Our past is our brave shield

Against disaster.

Through it we build a shelter

Against storm.

And as the years sweep by

Faster and faster,

All we have lived through

Keeps us safe and warm.

So let’s relive the years!

“Do you remember”

How happily we look back and

Review

The glowing past grateful for

Each November

And the ‘contrasting summers

We once knew!