Seventy five years ago the Armistice was signed marking the end of the First World War. By golly, I can remember that day. I was a wireless operator with the 65th Artillery Battalion in north eastern France. Wireless communications played a big part in ordering and controlling artillery fire. We also received communications from the higher command, some of which was sent out from the communications system on top of the Eifel Tower in Paris.
On the 11th of November (1918) I was on the wireless and was the first to hear that the Armistice was signed. I got to spread the good news! By golly, joy broke out! Soldiers started shooting their rifles in celebration. Pretty soon some heavier equipment joined in. Then I got another message. We were ordered to stop the firing. Horse meat had been a part of the army diet. After eating all the cows and half the horses in France, the army had finished their job. They moved us to Brest to the staging area for going home. We boarded a ship and landed in New York. From there a train took me back to the west coast for discharge.
I had picked up some of the mustard gas which the Germans used. It made me decide to keep in the great out of doors after discharge. Maybe that’s why I’ve been keeping good health and have a birthday with 97 candles on it. That’s like blowing out a fireplace.
I sat at the table at my folks’ house one day when Mama made a statement. She said if she “went” before Daddy, it was fine with her if he remarried. However, there was one stipulation: I had to approve. Of course, I didn’t think much more about it – at the time.
After they were involved in an accident, Mama was in the hospital’s trauma unit. They did all they could for her. I went in to see her just before she was taken off the machines that breathed for her. Though there was no response from her, I held her hand, told her I loved her, thanked her for all her years of putting up with us kids and vowed that if Daddy wanted to remarry, he would have to abide by her request and seek my approval.
Daddy didn’t drive again after the accident. That meant I was his main mode of transportation for a time. When we went to the store for groceries, we would go our separate ways. Whoever was done first would sit on the bench inside the entrance of the store and wait for the other. Many times, I finished first because he had to talk to everybody. He always found someone he knew – or rather, they would find him. If I saw him talking to someone I didn’t know, I was never quite sure if he really knew that person or if they were a random stranger.
One day, I walked to the door and there he was sitting on the bench. There were two ladies standing in front of him. Hmmm.. I walked up and the older of the ladies said, “He needs a cook.” I summed up the situation and said, “He has a cook. Come on Daddy. Let’s go!”
Upon questioning him, he said the ladies were a mother/daughter duo. As with most folks, whenever they saw Daddy, especially sitting alone, they said, “Oh, what a cute little man.” When they stopped to chat with him, they felt sorry for him and said, “Oh what a sweet little man.” That’s a recipe for disaster – especially when they are offering their services as a cook.
I reminded the little man that there was an approval service in effect. When I asked him why he didn’t tell her he didn’t need a cook, he said, “Well, I didn’t want to hurt her feelings. It was important for her to feel needed.” That lady didn’t make the grade.
Guest Author is my Daddy, written Dec 21, 1997 (submitted by my big sis)
The first time I saw Grannie’s kitchen, there was a fire in the black cook stove and something was boiling in a pot. As far as I remember, there was little furniture in the kitchen, just a stove and a cupboard, but the room it was in had six or seven chairs, a table, a bench and deer heads all over the wall. They were in the same room, but the kitchen was just the stove and the cupboard. And, oh yes, a dishpan on a low bench with a water bucket. And most important of all there was my grandmother. She was the same size as the stove and warm and had lots of hugging room and she cooked peedoes on top of the stove. They were sort of a batter bread with maybe some cornmeal in them and you ate them hot with some butter and also sugar.
The real part of the kitchen though was Grannie. She was a cook stove walking around and she made peedoes and we ate them like kittens waiting for a bowl of milk.
There was a well on the back porch, through the kitchen door. A bucket and rope were by the well, and the water was so clear you could hardly see it. When Grannie walked out on the porch to get water, it became part of the kitchen, too.
One time I saw a dead gopher in the well. He was not part of the kitchen and no one cooked him.
On the ride home, I had my nose pressed against the window in amazement. I could not believe that there were individual limbs and leaves on the trees. To me, trees were blobs like those painted by small children and many adults – you know – the kind that are green swirls and circles with a brown trunk and an occasional red apple. Sure, I had seen leaves on trees, at least when they were close up and right in front of my eyes, but how was I to know other trees really looked like that, too? When I got out of the car, I walked around the yard taking in everything I could. The brick walkway was not just one continuous slab, rather it was made of individual bricks. Wow!
I wasn’t sure what I looked like to those looking at me, but I was positive what the world looked like through my first pair of glasses. I don’t remember ever being told, “Go put your glasses on.” When I got a glimpse of how things looked through corrective lenses, I didn’t hesitate to wear them.
For several years, I wore glasses. Yes, people made fun of me and called me names like “four eyes.” One girl called me that and I punched her in the nose. Now they are fashionable. Then, there was only one style – cat eyes, clunky and not so attractive.
In my teenage years, I couldn’t wait to get contact lenses. I remember getting my first pair. I might even still have my first pair. Those kinds of lenses last a long time. The next pair was what was called “gas permeable (gas perm) contacts.” They were much more comfortable than the hard lenses. When soft lenses became available, I asked the eye doctor for a pair. He said, “Once you’ve worn gas perms, you won’t be satisfied with soft lenses. You have much clearer vision with gas perms.” He was right. I tossed the soft lenses and stayed with gas perms.
Old contacts
Then came the age of Lasix. I knew several people who had Lasix surgery to correct their vision. Did I have the nerve to try that? One day I decided I did. I went for an evaluation and found that I was not a candidate for that type of surgery, however, I had another option, Photorefractive keratectomy (aka PRK). The recovery time is longer, but PRK is considered safer and more effective in the long term. I signed up. The surgery was a success. Of course, I must have cheap readers for close up, but that’s okay.
In the course of life, sometimes things are not as they appear to be. We often assume too much according to our vision rather than the way it truly is. Try looking through someone else’s lenses. You might find that you’ve been missing something. I’d hate to think we’ve come this far and still can’t see the leaves for the trees —
In my journey tracing family history, I often come across intriguing individuals or families that transport me into a different era. So it is with the Osborne (aka Osbourne) family. It was through this line that I qualified for membership in the DAR (Daughters of the American Revolution).
I wonder what Sarah Wade Osborne thought and felt as her husband, George, and sons stepped onto the path that led to war. To have her husband and older sons enter into military service was one thing, but what about the young sons who joined at ages eleven and fourteen, as well as her other sons in between?
George Osborne was forty-two years of age when the Revolution broke out. The first military record for George and his sons, George Jr., and Thomas are found on a list in a company of Minutemen. Maybe their enthusiasm was driven by compelling love and responsibility to be ready at a minute’s notice to protect their families and towns. Minutemen were civilian colonists organized independently for militia campaigns. The men were chosen for their zeal, reliability and strength. They certainly did not lack in enthusiasm and readiness.
Azuba Osburn Brewer, great granddaughter of George Osborne, Sr
The night of April 18, 1775, Paul Revere, on a borrowed horse, began his midnight ride to alert the colonial militia of approaching British forces. The next morning George and his sons marched to war as other men emerged from their homes to join the ranks gathered to face the enemy. Soldiers and militia forces stood before the British army, and so began the battle of the revolution, with George Osborne and his two oldest sons by his side. Other sons of George and Sarah soon joined the fight. Seven of their eight sons served terms of various lengths throughout the war. Military documents record their places and times of service.
George, Jr. was twenty-one years of age at his first enlistment. He reentered the army in 1780 and served under two enlistments until the end of the war.
Thomas entered the army at age seventeen. He marched with his father on the alarm of Lexington and took part during the entire siege of Boston. Following that stint, he was under General Washington’s command in other battles. While in service on the armed vessel, the Protector, he was wounded, captured, and detained as a prisoner of war. After his release he enlisted on the frigate Deane where he joined some of his brothers. He was transferred to the Alliance and served until the ship went out of commission in March 1783.
Peleg was fourteen years of age when he began his military service in 1777 and served under three different enlistments. In 1781, he enlisted as a marine of the frigate Deane. He, too, was transferred to the Alliance. On December 25, 1781, the Alliance sailed for L’Orient, France, where the passengers Marquis de la Fayette and the Count de Noalles disembarked before the Alliance began its homeward journey. Peleg and his brother, William died at sea on the return trip in June of 1782.
William enlisted with his brothers Thomas, Hugh, John and Peleg on the frigate Deane in December 1781. He was transferred to the Alliance on which he died in June 1782.
Michael served with Colonel Nathan Tyler’s Regiment between July and December 1779. He served another short stint and later in Washington’s army. He was also on the frigate Deane between December 1781 and May 1782.
John was eleven years old when he began his military service. He enlisted as a “boy” and served three times in the navy, one of his tours of duty on the frigate Deane. He was wounded in battle and was listed as “lame.” How his mother’s heart must have hurt as she watched him march out the door of their home.
Hugh was thirteen years of age when he began his military career serving alongside his father in Captain Joseph Stetson’s company of Colonel Nicholas Dyke’s Regiment at Dorchester Heights in November of 1776. He marched again with his father from Pembroke to Bristol, RI. He had the opportunity to serve alongside his brothers at various times as well. While on the Deane, he served with Thomas, Peleg, John and William. Four of the brothers were transferred to the Alliance where Peleg and William died on board. At full stature, Hugh was only 5 feet 4 inches tall.
The Osborne family knew what it meant to sacrifice. They volunteered service to their country to claim freedom and were willing to do what was necessary to protect their families and communities.
Ezra Osborne, son of Hugh
Hugh is my 5thGreat Grandfather, George Osborne, Sr. is my 6thGreat Grandfather.
