Sarah Naismith (Hendry)

DESERET NEWS OBITUARY Sarah K. H. Naismith Mrs. Sarah Catherine Hendry Naismith, 87, 920 Belmont Avenue, died at her residence Wednesday, 11:30 a.m. of causes incident to age. She was born in Greenock, Scotland, May 8, 1862, a daughter of Joseph William and Sarah McCallum Hendry and was married to Col. Andrew B. Naismith in Logan. Surviving are seven daughters: Mrs. Margaret Ellen Wayman, Holladay; Mrs. Katherine Solomon, Mrs. Jessie Allen, Mrs. Ann Kelly, Salt Lake City; Mrs. Mary Jane Oldfield, Los Angeles, California; Mrs. Christina Stone, Southgate, California; Mrs. Elizabeth Butler, Riverside, California; 25 grandchildren and 56 great-grand children. Funeral services will be conducted Saturday, 1 p.m. at 36 East 7th South by Lee Dalebout, Bishop of LeGrande L. D. S. Ward. Friends may call at the place of funeral Thursday evening, Friday and Saturday. Burial will be in Salt Lake City Cemetery.

In recalling incidences about my Grandmother, Sarah Catherine Hendry Naismith, I appreciate now the extra dimension she gave to not only my young life but older years. I appreciate her strong sense of maternal affection and her love was boundless. She stood as a great champion in uniting all her close knit family. She had a great loyalty and devotion to those related to her, especially her brother, Joseph Smith Hendry, and his family who lived close by. Her mother love was one of compassion for all of her ten branches of love and their children--always fostering family unity and greater understanding within her large family. I was impressed with the love she had for Jessie--the two widows lived together for years and she was always paying Jessie's tithing, "so that Jessie would get into Heaven," she said. She never thought about herself. I laughed and loved the funny things she did. She jokingly said that the Lord had given her a lot of daughters and the devil repaid her in sons-in-law. But she always made a big fuss over her men folks and told her daughters and granddaughters, "You take good care of your man," and they all have no divorces in her family. It seemed to me that wherever Grandmother was, it was a party. She sent to Scotland for Scotch kilts so Ann Kelly could dance the sword dance and the Highland Fling. Grandmother left with us all her impressions of Scotland these many years, their customs and original quotes. You had to cross her hand with silver before you entered her front door on the New Year. The house had to be clean on the New Year, so everything was clean or she thought it would be dirty the whole year long. She was always faithful to beautiful old Scotland and kept a written account of temple work she had done for her dead which showed us the desires of her heart and aided us in finding out more about our progenitors. She yearned for her loved ones in old Scotland who had passed beyond the veil. Grandmother was married in October 1881 and mother was born 30 January 1884. I wonder and ponder over the loss of her first baby. Perhaps mother should not have been put first on the family group sheets. Don Kelly says that his mother [Ann Naismith Kelly] always said there had been twelve babies. Margaret, Bessie and I all remember how impressed mother was about grandmother losing her first baby because of a fire. In the excitement and moving something, she lost the baby and thought she would not have another. Then mother said that grandmother was promised in a dream that "she would have a daughter that would be like an angel from heaven." Mother was always made to feel that she was that angel. Grandmother looked for the best in people and thought the best of everyone, even the old tramps that came to her door, which, it was said, had a special mark on it. She said she was promised that if she would always help another that her purse would never be empty and it never was. She gave a young laddie ten dollars which was a lot in that day. Jessie, her daughter, was really disturbed with her. After a few months, the money was returned and the boy was back again with his family. Lots of good people in every walk of life she would say, I would have loved to have been at the station to greet grandmother as she stepped off the train with the new "motherless baby" and a two-year old at her side, the children of her daughter, Alice, who had died. Wallace Earl, the father, did not want the children adopted, but Aunt Kate, with her big mother heart like her mother, took Andrea anyway. That great love and concern Grandma had carried over to me, her granddaughter. When Sona was born and Clyde was out of town, she came out to help me. The snow was deep and I won't soon forget her helping me up the long driveway--she on one side and Ann Kelly on the other and Aunt Jessie carrying the new baby. Half way up the driveway, I could not go on, weakened from twelve days in the hospital and wearing big boots. I could not put one foot in front of the other and laughed and cried. Grandmother took over as usual and called to the house for help. Soon she had Scotch scones cooking, giving directions to everyone. I feel free and secure in her love and leadership, as her namesake. Grandmother always made me feel I was kind of special. I did not drink tea, but had a "small touch" in the hot water as she always wanted to make me a hot drink. She said, "Viola, that is tea begrudged and water bewitched." When she was old and in the childhood of immortality, eighty-seven years old, she would go about the house saying, "I'm nay good to nobody and I just can't dee, I just can't dee." She was born 8 May 1862 and died in 1949, courageous to the last. My mother's posterity is one hundred-sixteen in 1975. I think of the glory grandmother will have in all of us eternally.

From Christina Naismith Stone: "One day father was replacing a window. The putty was stiff so while he prepared the frame, he put the children to work kneading the putty to make it pliable. Instead of kneading it, I decided to put my piece in the stove. When it was soft, I called to him, 'Oh Pa, feel this.' I thought it was just right but he squeezed the putty harder than I had and burned his fingers. He was annoyed to think that I had played a trick on him and pulled back his hand saying that he would 'draw his hand across my face.' He meant that he would slap my face, but, as always, it ended with a pat on my cheek, which was his usual caress. "Pa taught me how to splice ropes and knot knots. He tried to teach me to sing the Scottish songs he loved, but I could not sing them to please him so he called me "Tenor Tin Rina." From Jessie Naismith Allen: "My Grandma Sarah [McCallum] Hendry had beautiful hair and for many years I prayed that I could have hair like hers. I always wanted to paint and was constantly drawing things when I was a child. My father said, 'That young one should have some lessons in art' to which Grandma Hendry replied, 'She will no pass her time with the like.' "My Grandma Hendry was very fond of Uncle Joseph Hendry. He came on the boat with her and lived close by. He also had lots in Federal Heights. People said I was pretty like my Grandma [Margaret McLeod] Naismith. "My mother never missed her Scotch Club. She was always bighearted. My brother, Andrew, bought father a new suit so that he would go to church." From Ann Naismith Kelly: "Saturday nights were family home night. The rug in the big front room would be folded up, the floor waxed and the music, singing, dancing and games begun. Father and Mother would sing duets, usually the old ballads, with much dramatics to entertain the wee ones. I think my mother could sing 'Come, Come Yet Saints' with more spirit than even the Tabernacle Choir--especially the part, 'Gird up your loins, fresh courage take.' I used to wonder what "gird up your loins meant. I knew it must be something special. Mother often said, 'when you are low in spirit, sing.' "We must have been poor, but I didn't know that we were because we had milk and vegetables to share with all the neighbors. We were always taking a pot of soup to Aunt Polly, a pail of milk to dear Sister Riley, a loaf of bread to old Grandma Gittens, or vegetables to poor Sister Simmons. We were a healthy family. Our food consisted of rich barley soups, vegetables stews, homemade bread and fresh butter and occasionally rice pudding. At Christmas time, we had cake and currant pudding. "Mother often said she never had a doctor in the house. Her babies were delivered by a midwife with Aunt Polly (Joseph Henry's wife) on hand to assist. I see her going down the stairs after tucking us in bed, with the lamp in her hands lighting up her face, saying her prayers, always thanking the Lord for healthy children. "The home was a white brick of square Dutch design. A summer kitchen was added on and bedrooms built upstairs to accommodate the growing family. My mother loved children and would say, 'where there is enough love, there is enough room.' She and my father were loving, congenial and often entertained their many Scotch friends. My father would say, 'Aye, the more I bring in the more your mother can give out to others,' and mother would reply, 'Aye, there'll be more when we're all dead.' "The house was kept scrubbed and clean and seemed to always have the smell of baked bread or Scotch scones. New Year's Eve or Hogmanay was a special time at our home. All the family, married, single, young ones and old were to be home for the holidays. No excuse was accepted. It was a great time for visiting, feasting and fun and often lasted for days. Beds were made--upstairs, downstairs and all across the parlor floor. The parlor floor bed was called the 'Brigham Young bed.' Yes, my mother was a strong, healthy character and kept her family together in a loving unit. "I will always remember my mother getting off the train after taking care of Alice, her youngest daughter, when she had a baby. Alice died following childbirth, so mother brought the children home with her. What a sight it was to see a seventy-year old grandmother descend from the train carrying a baby in one arm and holding the hand of a two-year old with the other. She was a very courageous lady to bring home two young ones--Wallace and Andrea Jacqueline Earl, to rear at that age and to be happy for the privilege of doing so. "Sarah Catherine Naismith knew the worth of souls and had a godly love for all her grandchildren."

"Alice." Andrew had to be sent back to school many times when found on the boat. One day at the docks he met a pretty Scottish lass, about sixteen, by the name of Sarah Catherine Hendry. She was about to sail to a new country, America, for a new religion, the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints. They spent the day together and apparently fell in love because Andrew said to Sarah as she left to sail to America, "I'll see you again in that new country." A short time later his father died, and Andrew did sail to America with his mother, Margaret McCleod Naismith, and three sisters, Margaret, Isabelle, and Agnes. There were three more sisters I did not know. They were Minnie, Jeane and Helen, also a brother John. Andrew's family joined the Church, and he and Sarah married in Utah. My father worked at the Silver Brothers Iron Works, Machine Shop and Foundry where he molded the oxen for the Salt Lake Temple. My father's parents were William Naismith and Margaret McLeod Naismith. My mother Sarah Catherine Hendry was born in Greenock, Renfrew, Scotland, May 8, 1860. Her parents were William Hendry and Sarah McAllam. My mother was a healthy, strong willed and industrious woman, with a broad Scottish accent. Sarah Catherine and Andrew Naismith bore and reared ten healthy children, eight daughters and two sons. Andrew said of Sarah: "Of all my eight pretty daughters, Sarah you are the prettiest." "No one could hold a candle to you, Sarah," was his way of saying it. She was a fine horsewoman. As a child, I stood in awe watching as she mounted her horse, and rode swiftly through the fields, her long hair flying in the air. Another picture of Mother often comes to mind. Her hands were either in a batch of bread dough or in the washtub scrubbing clothes -- always singing, singing. Mother and Father had nice singing voices and often sang duets together on "family night." The old Scotch ballads were so sad, I would cry. It was a treat when I could go in the horse and buggy with Mother to the foundry to take my Father his dinner. THE NAISMITH FAMILY: It was a Scottish custom for parents, in naming their children, to name the first born after the father, the second son after the mother's father. The same was done with daughters except the first born daughter is named after the mother's mother, and the second-born daughter is named after the mother. Nell (Margaret Ellen). She was gentle, innocent and young when married to an older man. She lived on a farm with no modern conveniences and had hard times. She had eight children. After her children were grown and her husband died, she bloomed, vacationed in Los Angeles, and gained some of her lost youth, having good times. Kate (Sarah Catherine). She was kind, generous and loving. She mothered me along with her own little ones. She spent time to wrap my hair with rags for curls each night. Mary Jane. She was high spirited, ambitious, and full of life and fun. She was always giving service. After she was married, when her friend died, she and her family took her friend's husband and new baby to her home to live with and care for them. Andrew. He was tall, slender and handsome, with dark eyes and hair, a meticulous

young man. Schooled as a pattern maker, he had his own shop in Los Angeles. He served in the ship yards in World War I. He worked long hours and died at 44. Christine. She was conservative, realistic, serious and a good manager. She lost a fine son in World War II, and lost her husband soon after. Her oldest son quit school to help support the family and send his sister on a mission. Jessie. She was tall and slender, with black hair and dark eyes. She was original, creative and had an entertaining personality. Proud of her family, she had self esteem and encouraged us all to live up to our name. She married a returned missionary, who was immediately drafted after his mission to serve in World War I. He was killed in his first combat. She never married again. William. He was handsome, humble and hard working. He was always ready to help, always caring for me, the little sister. Times required men to leave to big cities for work. He left for Portland, Oregon, and worked as a machinist in a large bean manufacturing company. He was called to serve in World War I, and died at 45 as a result of lingering war injuries. Elizabeth. She was a tall, beautiful blonde, like a fashion model. She worked at Deseret Book Store and loved reading. She married a young engineer and went to Los Angeles to live. She loved decorating and homemaking. She is still living in her lovely home in Riverside, California. Alice. The youngest child, she was my companion. She was good natured, delicate, loving and giving. She was tall, with a slender build, dark complexion and thick auburn, wavy hair. She died young, while giving birth to her second child, a baby girl with the same features as her mother. Anne. I was born second to last. This sounds like a rather glowing report of a prominent and well-to-do family (which we were not, my older sister told me so). But that's my nature. I do see things through rose colored glasses. I'm healthy, happy, and grateful for my beautiful, long life. MEMORIES OF LIFE IN THE NAISMITH HOME: On a cold winter night after tracking through snowdrifts and soaked to our knees (no sidewalks in those days), we gathered around the kitchen stove to thaw out. After a nice dinner of hot soup or beef stew, it's time for study. The big round table had a coal oil lamp that pulled down from the ceiling giving a pretty good light for reading and for Mother to mend stockings. There were lots of chores for each one, like buckets of water from the well, filling the reservoir, chopping wood, and coal, scuttles and scuttles of coal, and caring for the animals. My mother called the cows and horses the beasties. Summer was more time for fun. My father made a cement tank for storing the well water for irrigating. This was our swimming pool. (Not many people had swimming pools.) We also had the first telephone, which kept me running to call neighbors to the phone. Also I was the one to take a wee bit of butter to Aunt Polly, or a pail of milk to dear Sister Gittens, or a piece of pork to poor Sister Riley. These errands gave me the feeling of being rich (which we were not). Then came electricity and the electric washing machine for all to come to our house to wash their clothes. This delighted my father because he had the electric pole installed. Saturday night was our Home Evening. The carpet was rolled up in our big front room and singing and dancing and games started. One game I liked was "Peep Squirrel". Two persons, standing about twelve feet apart were trees to run around in a figure eight pattern while my father

sang, telling how fast we were to run to catch the squirrel. He could sing so well and made the game exciting. Summertime was also a wonderful time for family picnics at Saltair, the only and greatest resort on earth. The train ride took about forty-five minutes. The resort had a large lake of 25% salt, fun for bobbing and floating. No swimming. If any splashing of water got into eyes it would smart and one would have to quickly suck a finger to wipe it out. Saltair also had the largest dance hail in the world and was a romantic place for dating. I'm now about sixteen. I loved to dance, and had lots of dates. My favorite boy friend, Jack Kelly, a class mate had never asked me for a date. One summer day on my way to Conference, I saw coming toward me my Prince Charming. He was with a boy friend to whom he had just said, "That's the girl I would like to have a date with." As we came closer the boy friend pushed Jack right into me and said to him, "Go right ahead." Jack stuttered something like, "May I have a date with you sometime." I said, "Call me sometime," thinking "thought you would never ask." Our courting continued from that first date. Saltair was dancing every Friday night. Jack was not a good dancer. He only knew one step, but I was always glad when I saw his name on my dance program and, of course, for the last dance. Then we would run for the train. The train had open cars and closed cars. We would go for the closed cars. They were beautifully upholstered in velvet and with high backs -- so nice for cuddling after the lights turned low. After a few years of dating, we were so in love and were now talking about getting married. Jack felt my Mother didn't like him and was reluctant of asking her. She was stern and had a sharp tongue. So we decided to elope, to go to Farmington the next Saturday, June 11, 1921. On that day, after much questioning on our seriousness about marriage, the sheriff finally married us. We were so happy. We went to Lagoon, a small resort near there, danced and rode on the rides, and had fun. On the train ride home, we wondered where we would stay. We took the street car to my home, as usual, and sat for a long time on the porch swing, gathering courage to go inside to tell my mother and father. My mother had expected something was going on or in the wind, and we heard through the open window, loud and clear say that her daughter Anne was not to be married unless it were done right and proper in the Temple. This presented a problem. Jack said he would go to the Bishop for a temple recommend, and we would go to the Temple next week. So we decided to just be engaged for a week, and he took the streetcar and went home. Well to shorten the story, I'll just say it was a longer engagement than we expected. The Bishop didn't give Jack a recommend for six months. Then the Temple ceremony and reception, and all was done proper and right. My mother didn't find out we had eloped until we were in the Temple. She was shocked. But by that time, she was warming up to Jack's being worthy to be her son in law. Our wedding day was long and tiring, but happy. We had an evening wedding reception at Mary Jane's home, near my parents' home. Jack and I slipped away from the reception early to get into an old borrowed car, anxious now to finally be together in a little upstairs apartment. It was November 23rd. The weather was very cold and the roads muddy. We had just gone a few blocks, and the car got stuck in the mud. After much pushing, tugging and cranking of the car, we were pretty splattered with mud, but again on our way to the apartment. We got