Sunday has always been the center of my life. Before I was confirmed in the Anglican Church, I used to read my book first thing in the morning when I woke up. Sunday was a quiet day. My father and grandfather were off to Eucharist first thing in the morning instead of going to work (after I was confirmed I would go with him as my grandfather had passed away and he always went alone unless we went with him). When they came home they would make their usual big pot of oatmeal and then I would get up and have that wonderful hot bowl of porridge just like that, no sugar no fruit just plain oatmeal. I loved it; I still eat that every morning except I add raisins, frozen cranberries while it is cooking and then at the end stir in wheat germ, bran and frozen blueberries. Sunday we didn't go anywhere when I was a child except to Church and Sunday School.
Today we do not have anything planned. It will be a quiet day. No moving of items about or reorganizing. We are ready for the next steps that will occur one of these days and we are not in a rush. It is always two steps forward and one step back as I hold on to the memories. It is the memories that I need to preserve now to last me to the end of my days so that I can do as my grandfather did and pass on what I know of my family. It wasn't until I started doing genealogy back in 2003 that I realized that was what my grandfather was doing when he was talking to me. He was passing on the memory of his family. He was thousands of miles from Upper Clatford but he didn't want me to forget that my family was from there and had been there for ever so long; for ever in his terms. As I listened to stories from other people I realized that that was how people who had never left their founding area saw life; he had left when he was 39 to come to Canada to work on the railway. It was a huge adventure for him and he still savoured that adventure all those years later when he talked about leaving everything that he knew to come to Canada. Their boat was to dock in Halifax but it was February and Halifax was iced in so they went to Maine where they disembarked and were sent overland to Montreal which was his final destination anyway. He was going to stay with people that he knew for a few days until he would make his way to Stratford Ontario to work in the trainyards - he was a blacksmith by trade and all of these trades were badly needed in Canada. His excitement at coming still showed even in those older eyes.
Six months later his wife and child, my father, would join him in London, Ontario where the railway works moved to after a fire in Stratford. Sunday always reminds me of all those stories because that was a day of rest for him and he spent it talking about his family in Upper Clatford and he showed me all their pictures. He had a sister Elizabeth and he said I looked like her. She was five years younger than he was but he never told me that she had died in childbirth in 1908. I found that out when I started collecting family information. He corresponded with his siblings and would read their letters to me. But mostly he talked about Upper Clatford and going to school and working there before he moved to Eastleigh after he had trained as a blacksmith.
Sunday is God's gift to us; a day of relaxation and praising God for his goodness. I know he will hold Edward close so that he is not lonely. Edward hated being alone.
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