Recollections of childhood home by Helen Dahlquist, May 1971

Helen has written a beautiful essay on our life in the clinker-brick home. Being three years older than I, I submit her memories of this time and place in our lives where we were both born.

I was born in a large sage-green clinker-brick house built by my father on the corner of 3rd East and 3rd North in Provo, Utah. Until we moved next door in our new home built on part of the old lot, this home was the hub of a lot of learning, loving, and living--for me, my eight sisters and two brothers, wisely, and incredibly calmly directed by our two parents. This home had a large basement with good-sized windows looking out on the ground. Here potatoes, fruits, and vegetables could be stored, clothes hung next to the furnace to dry, and little children could roughhouse when the weather was too severe outside.

The main floor was at least six feet above the ground. On it was a large living room, a smaller library which sometimes doubled as a guest room, and a large dining room centered with an over-sized oak dining table with detachable leaves that were practically never detached, and which was surrounded by at least thirteen chairs placed outward morning and night for family prayer. Around this table many interesting conversations took place. We were a rather verbal family and school reports, church doctrine, political ideas, and sporting events were freely discussed. There was only one taboo. Whenever an attempt was made to discuss something bad (even though interesting) about someone else, it was ignored. Gossiping was just not approved.

As far back as I can remember, someone in our family was in college, and our life revolved around BYU. My older sisters and brother frequently brought friends home for dinner, and college life and ideas were an integral part of our discussions. Raymond was Studentbody President when Rachel was 2nd Vice President (and then Secretary) and they all brought their ideas to this table.

We had a good-sized kitchen again centered by a table, square and covered with zinc, where suppers and snacks were served and many baskets of fruit peeled and preserved. A large coal stove with a warming oven was a great attraction. To the west of the kitchen was a large screened porch which housed our chug-chug-chug washer and which was completely inundated with fruit during canning season. The chug-chug of that old washer made such an indelible impression not only on us children but upon our father that when we moved to the new house, Papa insisted that from then on Mother send the wash to the laundry, and we didn't become acquainted with the new-fangled washers until we made homes of our own. If you looked south through a window off the screened porch, you could see my brother's bedroom. My brother tells of one time when he found that window helpful. He had been out later than he should have been with my father's youngest brother. My uncle discreetly decided he might just as well return directly home to Salt Lake rather than face explanations at our house. Raymond thought eeryone might be in a better mood in the morning if no one was awakened at that late hour, so he ever so carefully and gently raised that window and crawled into his room. He intended to slip unobtrusively into bed until he discovered my mother sleeping peacefully in his bed awaiting his return!

The community bathroom was on the other side of my brother's room, and it was usually overwhelmed with individually marked towels, neat squares of newspapers, and Sears catalogs, and female unmentionables. In desperation, Papa finally installed a washbowl and mirror in the hall outside the bathroom, hoping to overcome numbers with availability. Next to the bathroom was our parents' bedroom. This naturally had to be large enough to include besides the brass double bed, the beautifully carved and often occupied wooden cradle and at least one other small bed. The girls' bedrooms were upstairs.

To reach the upper floor, you went either through the library and a small hall to the stairs or directly from the front room to the hall and stairs. Mother found this most inconvenient for her nightly checks and didn't like the feeling of being cut off from potential appeals for help. She proposed to Papa that he cut a door from their bedroom directly into the hall which led to the stairs. For sometime Papa resisted this suggestion as he thought there were too many doors in the bedroom already and that there should be a reduction of comings and goings. He melted, however, when Mama (rather than nagging) wrote a song entitled "Cut me a doora" and had us all sing it to him when he returned home one night (tune El Torreador, popular opera at that time).

I read somewhere that the New England character was forged by climbing into icy sheets each night and I firmly believe that. For some reason I have not been able to figure out, only Rachel's bedroom had a radiator in it and the other three bedrooms received the warmth second hand. Since it was the custom to open windows in even the coldest weather for fresh air, I don't know why I complain, but in winter linoleum floors seemed unbearably cold to bare feet and sheets icy. Still, my memories are of comfort and warmth, perhaps because of the many times I found the aluminum hot water bottle wrapped in a towel in my bed and perhaps because I always had at least one tolerant sister who knew how to cuddle and give warmth.

Even today when I hear a train whistle at night, I get the sad lonely feeling I had when our family first began to separate. I remember being at the station with the big black locomotive and everyone saying goodbye to Ramond who was going away on a mission to Colorado. It was all very exciting until the train pulled out and again that night when I was in my bed and heard that lonely train whistle and realized my brother was somewhere out there in the night all alone. Before Raymond completed his two year mission, my sister Jean, just older than I, died as a result of an accident and my brother Blaine died of pneumonia.

We had been up to Aspen Grove for the Timp Hike program and sleepout and had stopped off at Spring Dell where both of our grandparents had homes on our return. Father had waited to bring the older ones back from the hike but Mama and some of us smaller ones were returning with Aunt Jennie and Uncle Will Knight. At Spring Dell, Jean and I were flying back and forth on swings supported by large wooden posts. I remember getting off because it didn't seem steady enough to me and playing on something else. In a few minutes I heard a commotion and found that a post had given way and in falling, had hit Jean on the head. I shall never forget the look on my mother's and Aunt Jennie's faces and the uttered prayers as they worked to retrieve a sucker from Jean's throat so she could breathe and our return to Provo to get her the best medical care available. As they dropped us off at home and we walked into our big lonely kitchen, Elizabeth had us all kneel down and we took turns praying for Jean. We knew clearly that only He could help her now. Jean apparently recovered from her fractured skull and even returned to school. But one day she complained of a headache and Mother dropped everything and picked her up to rock her. About 48 hours after that, Brother and Sister Jensen, who lived next door, had us come in for some bread and milk about dusk. We were really quite prepared when one of the older girls came to get us and we learned Jean had gone to Heaven. She was not yet eight.

I remember seeing Jean laid out in her beautiful dress and having Mother hold us and explain that someday we would be with Jean again and she was still part of our family. But Mama had an awful time letting one of her little ones go and I knew Papa took her for rides in the car in the night to help her feel better.

The next August, almost exactly a year later, my brother Blaine contracted pneumonia, and within a few days he was gone. When Jean died, Blaine remarked to Mr. Litchfield (the man he worked for) and to Mama that within a year he would not be here. It bothered Papa, and when Blaine died, both he and Mama felt that Blaine had had an impression of what was going to happen. He was just 18.

I can't thinkf about our clinker-brick home without thinking about the 5th ward chapel where we spent a great deal of our time. Since we were within a half block, we could hear when the prelude music began and knew it was our last warning to be in our places. Someone said that when the Candlands and Holbrooks arrived, church could begin, and we did each take up a complete row. It was taken for granted that we would always be in our places, and the gospel teachings came first in our home. Saturday was truly spent in getting ready for Sunday, and Sunday was a day of worship with Book of Mormon stories, letter writing, and scrapbooks filling the hours between meetings. Jennie used to play the pipe organ at the meeting house and I can remember going with her to practice during the week and listening to the beautiful music as the afternoon sun streamed through the stained glass windows.

I could never quite figure out how it as that Papa, after going over Mama's bank statements in the kitchen, always thought that we spent too much money; but if you went shopping with Papa, it didn't seem to worry him at all. He bought everything in huge quantities and if I went with him to buy a pair of shoes, not telling how many wonderful things we might come home with. There was no doubt in my mind that Papa was the head of our home and all important decisions were referred to him. We always knew that Papa expected us to be honest, straightforward, and to do our part. "Keep your word as good as your bond" was the creed he lived by and taught. As we became older, we loved to go to shows with Papa because he would discuss such important, grown-up things about life with us on the way home and talk about what was true and what was not in the show. There was something so strong and solid about Papa, and we felt the warmth of his love and interest.

(Helen tells how she felt about each of her siblings which is omitted with the exception of Elaine.)

Elaine was the youngest and she was surely a good one to end up with. Everybody adored her. She had a cheerful, happy disposition and was blessed with uncommonly good sense. We three had a great time together and rarely took sides. I remember one time, though, when I was feeling superior to some fairy game Vera and Elaine wanted to play and was treating them rather scornfully. I was cut down to size, though, when Vera touched me with a stick and said very officially, "I dub you a frog." I felt like blinking my eyes and giving a few croaks.

Well, those clinker-brick days were happy days and the house withstood the buffeting and growing pains of our large busy family with equanimity and great strength. When Papa sold it (for half what it cost him to build it), he sold it to another big family and they did a lot of growing in it, too. It is still standing on that 3rd East and 3rd North corner but now houses college-age youth and hs several apartments in it. Somehow that seems all right because we know that lots of BYU spirit and knowledge are being circulated there, and we know the clinker-brick house would feel right at home with that.

Elaine's memories of her grandparents

This photo is my grandmother, Emily Angelina Hinckley Holbrook.
I remember going with my father to Salt Lake to visit with his parents. Sometimes we would go on the Orem which was a train that went from Provo to Salt Lake or sometimes we would go in Father's car and just visit with them for awhile and come home the next day. I don't ever remember when my Holbrook grandparents weren't cheerful even if I happened to wet the bed, which was likely. Grandma would just smile about it. My mother just completely smiled about it. Once I brought one of my friends from Provo up to visit. President Grant was the prophet when I was young. He and his wife used to take my Holbrook grandparents for Sunday rides. Perhaps Grandpa never learned to drive a car though he was wonderful with horses. His best friends were his wife and her brothers as shown by the many things he did for them. He would lend them small amounts of money until they had done better in business and then they would pay him back. When Danny was a baby my Holbrook grandparents used to come out to our place and bring things for him because he was such a friendly baby and they had fun playing with him.

Elaine's memories of her mother

Picture nine or so children and their Mama, dressed in their nighties, curled up on the two full-size beds in the big girls room (one of the beds was an in-the-wall pull out type.) Mother and her daughters each read her own Book of Mormon, marking her favorite verses. At the end of the reading each night, we read and discussed our marked passages with each other. This was not the beginning of my enjoyment of the Book of Mormon, though. Mother lived it. It cropped up in our daily conversations, our questions, our problems. It seemed the Book of Mormon had the answers for everything! Stories from it poured from our Mama's lips and heart and we loved them. Our mother was a professional teacher; coupling that with her love of family and the Lord, the book was her text in raising us and living her own exemplary life. She seemed to know and we practiced eternal doctrines that were later adopted church-wide. We always had homenight, family council, church together, two years supply of food and clothing, letter writing time, family history enjoyment both with living and deceased ancestors, scripture reading. Along with her obvious enjoyment of raising her family, Mother had this important hobby of family history research and temple work. Many mornings I awakened early to study for an examination only to find Mother just folding up and putting away her genealogy books and papers so as to spend her time exclusively with her children while they were with her. She had a great sense of the seasons for everything. From her I learned my present love for family history and temple-work, recognizing as did she the part this plays in our Heavenly Father's plan.

A photo of my parents at the time of their marriage.

Elaine's memories of her father

A photo of my papa when he was a baby along with a copy of his delayed birth certificate appear above. My papa was a great strength to his wife and his children and we did not doubt his love or wisdom. He had this quality of respecting Mother's motherhood to the extent that he seldom interfered with her decisions regarding us. Papa and Mama talked things over "privately" in order to present a united front. This was done in their bedroom but as Mama had to shout to make him hear, it was not as private as they thought. I suppose the really private talks were when the children were not home. One subject I remember is that Mama felt terrible when prohibition was repealed but Papa thought that moral issues could not be decided by vote. Listed here are some individual interactions with our Papa.
1. I giggled when he tossed me up and called me "Tiddlywinks."
2. Only on Family Night would Papa play the piano for us and that was usually the duet he played with Mama. If we coaxed him, he would speak the Maori language. One word was "kia ora" meaning thank you or hello and "tena koutou" which means hello to a group.
3. Papa and Mama were for 43 when I was born and I do not remember him going to work each day. He spent much time in his chair in the front room reading the three newspapers - Provo Herald, Deseret News, and S.L. Tribune. He was usually cross with the Tribune as they did not favor BYU or its sports, or the Church for that matter. Much of his reading inclued stock market activities, especially mining and other business. Father was very conservative in buying and selling, definitely not a gambler. Each day he would go to Uncle Well's (mama's brother) stock broker office and check things out. He often told us when the stocks went "down." WE took that as reason to help him worry a little and to be frugal. It used to puzzle me that he forgot to tell us when the stocks went up, and they must have done so for we had all we needed or wanted. Somehow, for me at least, money was not a concern and seldom discussed or thought about.
4. The big oval table radio was situated by papa's chair with his "good ear" correctly in place to hear every word. Nevertheless, the radio was loud!
5. Papa nearly always had time for BYU sports. When I introduced Arnold, Papa had already seen him running races at the trackmeet.
6. He loved to go fishing. Even though his family was mostly girls, we all have memories of fishing trips which are other stories.
7. We didn't know of any other father who would go to a sale at Butlers or Taylor Brothers and come home loaded down with party dresses! The size didn't seem to matter as he figured each would fit at least one of his nine daughters. The wholesale price he paid was really a buy. I enjoyed watching the excitement as my older sisters tried on these formal dresses. No one had the heart to tell Papa that the dresses were no longer in style and not what the wearer would choose if given the choice!
8. You all know the story of the pie that disappeared in a pan of milk. Papa's appetite for pie made its first appearance then as he was living with his Hinckley grandparents, about four years old, I think. Papa took us on many trips to see and appreciate our wonderful USA. Pie was a daily must for him even on these trips and sometimes he would have it for breakfast. A week or so before Papa died, I took him shopping and sure enough, he bought a pie to take home and bake.

Walks I recall by Elaine

Walks I Recall by Elaine

Picture a five year old who goes walking with her Papa. She takes several steps to his purposeful one. The autumn leaves are crunchy under our feet. Black walnuts in their golf ball green husks have spilled over the sidewalk from trees above. They are carefully avoided as their rich brown juice definitely stains. First we pass by a house Papa owns and rents out. (In later years Papa tells us he could have made a fortune if he had not sold this valuable property too soon. The post office was later built there. Papa hastens to add that he made a fair profit and really does not begrudge someone else making more.) Then we go to the Knight Trust and Savings Bank where Papa transacts business. This bank is in a large building with the name “KNIGHT” across the top. This is “our” Knights. I notice across the street the “HOLBROOK” block and am reminded that my papa’s father was two-time mayor of Provo. We take time to admire the Provo Stake tabernacle with its lovely stained glass windows which were donated by this Grandfather. Next Papa and I walk to the O. P. Skaggs grocery store to do some shopping for Mama. This is one of the first chain stores to come to Provo. It is a novelty to choose our purchases, put them in the basket and carry it to the checkstand. I am used to running to “Sowards Grocery” or to “Wintertons” for a spool of thread or a cake of yeast and there the owner or a family member fills my requests. Both of these stores are within two blocks of our home and are owned and operated by our friends. As we leave Skaggs, Papa and I are loaded down with heavy grocery-filled brown bags. As we begin our walk home, we stop each block to put down our bags and rest. We are not too tired to miss the gorgeous fall colors, both around us and on the mountains to the east. The brisk air whets our appetites, but Papa does not believe in stopping for treats. The aroma of fresh-baked brown bread greets us as we return to 341 N 3^rd East, our home. We especially enjoy our brown bread-and-milk supper that night.

Picture three little girls with gunny sacks on their shoulders, of course, walking. It is the “three little kids—Helen, Vera, and Elaine.” The sky is October blue, the air nippy and oh, so fresh! We are happy and carefree and mildly competing for the biggest “haul” For it is that time of year. Time to fill our bags with the green husked, golf-ball size black walnuts whose mother trees line Provo sidewalks, providing shade, crunchy colorful leaves, and of course, nuts. I remember these trees being on the other side of the sidewalk nearest the street and I am wondering now if they belonged to the owners of the houses on the opposite side or were actually planted by earlier pioneers. At any rate, it seemed to be understood that harvest rights belonged to Provo children. We run and walk for miles (it seems) enthusiastically pointing, stooping, and scooping the nuts into our bags. We know our hands will be stained for weeks with the rich brown juice (which is actually sold commercially now as a walnut furniture stain), but that drawback has been taken into consideration and accepted for we are not yet teenagers! When the weight of our bags and our sagging energies intersect, we begin the long trek back home, returning a different way just in case there are some trees we have missed. After a brief rest at home, we peel off the green husks and place the brown nuts in the hard black shells in a warm place to dry. After several weeks of testing, the nuts are pronounced dry. We then arm ourselves with papa’s hammers, sit outside on the concrete and proceed to crack the nuts. There is a definite skill to the hammer swing to ensure enough of the shell is cracked to pick the small nutmeats out. At this point, doubts as to the worthiness of this project always assail us. Only the picture of yummy divinity candy filled with black walnuts keeps us going. Or maybe, just maybe, it is that we had so much fun gathering the nuts, we refuse to admit it is not a paying project! My memories do not linger on the ultimate destination of the nuts but on the gathering. Those wonderful walks!

Picture a second grader with cherry nose and frozen eyelashes (so cold the tears come and then freeze to the eyelashes) going Christmas shopping with her big sister (any one of the seven, this happened to be Ruth) walking, of course. We slide and crunch along the sidewalk the five blocks from our house to “downtown” Provo. A block before we come to Provo Bakery, we begin to smell, really smell those tantalizing bakery scents! WE just naturally drift into that wonderful place and my big sister buys us each a sweet roll. Delicious! We walk slowly past the library deciding it is too cold to carry books home, stop by Paramount movie theatre and read of each coming attraction, considering if there are any our parents would approve (certainly not!). Keeley’s Fine Candies is right next door to Paramount, and we note the humps and dips of the chocolates, wondering if they are as deliciously nutty as they appear. Hindselmann’s Jewelry store next door has our scrutiny, those shining diamonds! We view the shop windows at Walgreens Drug and enter to check their Christmas specials. They seem too “cheap” so we wander on down to Butlers. There we choose a pattern and material for a Christmas dress for Ruth but wait approval of their purchase by our mother. Woolworths is just two doors west and we just go in there and browse. Taylor Brothers is another two blocks. Do we want to go that far? Yes, for we know we will find quality there as the store is owned by our stake president. At Taylor Brothers, I fall in love with a darling little set of dishes, sort of a kitchen set and my sister cannot get me to leave it. She finally distracts my attention to some dolls on the other side of the store. When I emerge from that dreamland of dolls, I rush back to the dishes. They are gone! Someone has bought them! I am about to cry but my sister comforts me with “Oh, there are lots of other fun things to play with.” I notice she is carrying an odd-shaped box, but she skillfully parries my questions about it possibly having anything to do with Christmas.

During the trip home, we slip and slide along Center Street until we arrive at Third East and Aunt Jennie Knight’s large home. Of course we enter. We would seldom walk past there without entering! From Aunt Jennie we receive hugs and kisses, warmth for our fingers and toes, the chance to push hard on the pedals of the “player” piano and admire our ability to have “Girl of My Dreams I Love you” resound from our efforts. We sit around Aunt Jennie’s dining room table and eat “store-bought” ice cream served on Haviland china with gold spoons. We love this “rich” relative who loves us! On resuming our journey homeward, we alternately run and slide, hoping our thawed-out toes will not refreeze during the three blocks remaining. Home!! How good it is to be home after our exciting “walk!” We are enveloped in warmth and love.

My Mother, Alsina Elizabeth Brimhall Holbrook, by Elaine

MY MOTHER--MY TEACHER
Who was my favorite teacher? None can compare with my Mother. She has taught me aII of my life. Mother was a schoolteacher by profession and she used those skills in raising her family. That, along with her implicit faith in the gospel of Jesus Christ, brought results. I often ponder on how Mother home-taught brother Blaine who was a slow learner and needed close supervision without neglecting her other children or interrupting the pattern by the
arrival of a baby about every two years. She taught me early to keep the bigger picture in mind while dealing with challenges. Even though I was the youngest of 11 children, I always felt important (as did each of us). Mother was so very happy having us and raising us that I learned that families are happiness.

Mother lived the gospel and so I did, too. Raising her precious children in the gospel plan was pure joy to her and so I learned that living the gospel is joyful. I don't have a first memory of my teacher mother. It seems that she was always there. And my memory melds with family stories so I am not sure which is which. I do remember having a tantrum at age 5 as I did not want to go to school but wanted to remain home with my mother teacher. I also remember how calmly she continued doing the dishes while waiting for me to pick myself up and go to school. I learned that tantrums don't help. Summer mornings--mother was not too busy to take her young ones for walks. She knew the leaves and trees--their names and habits. She knew the names of the flowers. She knew buttercups and peppermint grew in the ditch banks and as we rested on these banks she gave us mint leaves to chew. Sometimes these walks were long ones as Mother did not drive and walking had a two-fold purpose--besides having a wonderfut time with our mother, we usually also visited a relative or a friend (who might live many blocks away) with a new baby and gave her encouragement and love. I learned to respect mothers and babies. I learned that God made the beautiful trees and flowers and that mother enjoyed them. I even learned some of
their names. I did not realize then how healthy those walks were. Mother took us for moonlight walks and explained the stars.

She talked to us about the delightful dating years and that to save oneself for the one and only was the way. She enjoyed our romances along with us and spoke of the purity that needed to be
there. She accepted our choices, realizing that marriage was the way to live the Plan. Each of us married and in the Temple. The Temple. I close my eyes and see mother ironing hers and Dad's
temple clothes. Then I knew that a temple trip was coming." It was not easy. If Mother went alone, she walked to the train station with her bag for the ride to SLC. Upon arrival, she carried her bag several blocks to the SL temple. That she loved the temple was evident in her happy expectant smile. I learned early that the temple was a place of learning and that visiting it made one happy.I also realized there was a connecting link between mother's genealogy and the temple. Many a morning I would arise around 6 or 7 in time to see Mother puting away her precious genealogy records that she had already worked on for several hours so that her family could have her full attention as our day began. Ilearned that family was very important--past, present, and definitely future. (The grandchildren were Mother's delight.) Temple marriage was the only one her children considered and mother did all she could to make it delightful for us. "Temple" still has a happy sound.

Mother's meals were so good! We lived the Word of Wisdom--wheat for man, fruits and vegetables in season, whole milk, homemade brown bread with real- butter, venison, chicken, molasses cookies, parkerhouse rolls, etc. From Relief Society, Mother learned some
especially delicious menus that her children still remember-- candlestick salad, finan haddie, gingerbread and cream, tomato aspic, kippered salmon, baked potatoes and squash, homemade
icecream. As a family we looked forward to mealtime--not only because of the good food but the conversation. Father kept us informed about the affairs of the nation, Mother about insights of
the gospel, children about friends and school. It was an important must in our busy schedules. I learned that cooking is fun and that mealtime is family time.

Becoming ill in our family had some distinct advantages. Our Heavenly Father was petitioned in prayer regarding this special illness with this special child. Mother believed that good nursing
was a very important part of recovery. She took a Red crossnursing course in Relief Society and practiced it on her children. We first went to bed. Then mother brought a pan of hot water to
soak our feet. She added hot water from time to time. The idea was to draw the blood from our head to our feet so that we relaxed and went to sleep. No matter that mother many times stayed up all night to replenish this hot water supply and watch over us when we had high fevers.
Mustard plasters worked wonders with congestion. A stiff neck or other soreness brought bed on the kitchen window- seat while mother hot packed the painful area. Plentiful liquids were provided. All of this was accompanied by loving caresses and soothing talk. Unless the severity of the illness required a doctor's visit, medicine was not used. Our recovery took longer than it does now but relapses were infrequent and wereturned to the land of the living renewed in body, mind, and spirit. I learned that mothering involved hard work and sacrifice. I remember our pajama parades. At bed time children of all ages gathered on the two double beds and each silently read our very own BofM and marked our favorite passage. Then we each read aloud our
passage of the day and discussed it. I learned early that the BofM was important and developed a great love for it. That Mother used it in her own life was evident. She quoted it when challenges
arose and there was always a solution in that book.

Mother and Father took us on many trips. Mother kept a journal on these trips and so I did, too. I learned so much about our country and developed strong feelings of patriotism. On July 4th, our flag was up bright and early and we were dressed in new clothes to go to the big parade. We re-discussed the blessings of America--our promised land that would remain free as long as its citizens kept God's commandments. What a wonderful day July 4th was, ending withcommunity fireworks. I learned to love our country. And to keep a journal.

Christmas was delightful! Surprises and thrills galore as we learned of Jesus Christ and gifts and giving. The element of surprise in our gifts to each other was a big thing. I believed
in Santa Claus but not because mother stressed that. As I think of it, she did not mention him; somehow she let us enjoy him along with our friends without comment. This was comforting to me when I finally did learn the Santa Clause fable. I realized that was not the biggest part of Christmas. I learned that sharing and love and family and relatives were Christmas. Mother never told us a falsehood and so her children just naturally believed her throughout our lives (and still do). I learned about the real Christmas and I learned to be truthful.

She taught me to enjoy reading and encouraged those fun library trips. They hold a special spot in my memory still of a summer morning, after completing my chores, I tidied myself up and hurried downtown to the library (usually with my sister Vera). After some browsing, I checked out several books to delight a young girl's heart (Like Anne of Green Gables, The Five Little Peppers and How they Grew, etc. ) and began the trip home. I savored the walk-- reading as I went. I became so engrossed in the book, that it is a wonder I arrived home without accident! I early learned to enjoy books.

When my father was courting my mother and asked for her hand in marriage, she thought and prayed and then went to her father. He told her that her head had done its part and now to rely on her heart. His reply letter to Fay included his consent with the admonition that Fay never deceive Sina, as she was of such a trusting nature. I learned trust. one nephew remember Aunt Sina taught him that the scouting medals meant nothing if they were not truly earned. she taught integrity in so many ways.

Mother seemed to know that the eldest Priesthood holder in the home was to conduct family prayer. When mother prayed, I sometimes peeked to see if Heavenly Father was in the room as
she talked to him so personally. Her prayers brought results--so I learned the power and peace of prayer. Mother's standards were high and she really suffered when her children did not measure up in important things. Her suffering was more painful to us than any punishment could ever have been. Itruly learned to obey out of concern and love and trust. To her the gospel "Plan" was the way of life and there was no happiness in straying.

Mother respected Father as Priesthood head of our family. She spoke of her Patriarchal Blessing and how it described our dad before she ever met him. Because of the Blessing's prophecy, she
had implicit faith in Father's ability to provide for our big family. Mother and Father talked over the challenges. Much oftheir success as parents was because they supported each other. Father had great respect for her divine motherhood and she honored his position as Priesthood head of the family and she respected his decisions. Father and Mother were not just alike, but they made
a great team. I learned the pattern of a good marriage and the honor of having the Priesthood in our home.

As I read this, it sounds like Mother did lots of talking. Actually she did not. She listened. I often marvel at how she taught us so much and said so little. But there was somehow an understanding between Mother and each child. We confided in her our cherished dreams. She knew us. And loved us. I learned to listen and to respect confidences. Mother left a legacy of her love in her written messages through her journals and letters. Her children are stilI learning from them and we refer to them often. We continue with the feeling that our parents were committed to the gospel of Jesus Christ and knew we would be. I learned loyalty and enduring truth.

More childhood memories

Christmas 1924 (Written by Elaine in 1994 when she was 74)

My grandfather, George H. Brimhall had a horse with sleighbells and it pulls a sleigh that looks like a carriage. The day before Christmas, I hear those sleighbells ring and I rush outside to see my grandpa and hope for a ride over Provo’s snowy streets (most of them not paved nor cleared from snow). Sometimes my Uncle Wells Brimhall brings his Shetland ponies, also with bells and hitched to a sleigh. In memory I hear those Christmas bells and the excitement engulfs me once again (70 years later).

To decorate for Christmas, my sisters and I loop red and green crepe paper from the chandeliers in the middle of the ceiling to the far corners of the room. From this chandelier also hangs the large red paper pullout bell, a tradition. The roaring fire made painstakingly with newspaper and coal add warmth and excitement. We do not have a Christmas tree. My father had grown up without the Christmas tree custom and so do we. Somehow, we don’t miss it. The beautiful picture of Jesus taken from the famous painting of his teaching the learned ones in the temple while his mother and Joseph sought him hangs in a beautiful frame on the wall (Valerie has this now). Above the piano is the lovely picture of St. Cecilia raining roses on the piano player who brings forth beautiful music.

On Christmas eve, my brother Raymond sings “The Holy City” (also played on the trumpet by David Pehrson and accompanied by Gloria) and my sister Rachel accompanies him on the piano. Then we have a trio of Jennie at the piano, Mary with her violin, and Ruth on the cello. How I love this Christmas music and can hear it in memory still, interlocked with the deep love for the musicians! Then we read from the Bible and talk about our Savior’s birth. After heartfelt prayers of thanks for our Savior and refreshments for this Christmas homenight, we retire to bed. To bed, but not to sleep, for somehow, this one night of the year, sleep flees and anticipation and excitement for the wonderful surprises we have purchased or made for each other hold sway. I remember one year I had $1.00 to spend for all my gifts to give, and I felt so rich! Another year, I made wonderful large decorated Christmas cookies and gave one to each loved one, my entire contribution. One year school teacher Mary gave Raymond a paid-in-full note for money she had loaned to help him at Stanford.

When Christmas morning finally comes, we line up with me, the youngest first and march into the Christmas room to the sound of piano music. Remember we are a large family so it is a long line! Our gifts are assembled on separate chairs that bear our names. We girls of doll playing age receive beautiful dolls each year and that is our main present until we become too old for dolls at twelve and our last doll is the biggest and best, a treasure to keep forever. I kept mine sewed up in a pillowcase for many years to give to my first girl child but I cannot find it now. An orange in the toe of each stocking is a treat as there were not big trucks traveling the highways to bring them to us from the sunny states in those days. Nuts and beautifully patterned clear hard Christmas candy fill our stockings about half-way.

Snow for Christmas is a must and we usually have it. After breakfast we line up on the snowy sidewalk, father first, then mother, my oldest brother, and so on down the line to me. Laughing, we wave cheery hellos to our admiring neighbors as we tramp and sing all the way to Grandpa Brimhall’s, one and one-half block due south for love and good wishes; then to Aunt Jennie and Uncle Will Knight’s, one and one-half blocks further south, for goodies and love; then we head west for Grandma Knight’s where the Berg Mortuary is now. Jessie Knight, the man who helped save the credit of the Church with his dream mine, is deceased, but Amanda reigns with queenly dignity and a twinkle in her eye as she welcomes the long line of Holbrooks into her mansion. Refreshed by her hospitality, we resume our positions and walk east one block and north two to visit Uncle Mark and Aunt Gwenevere and Uncle Wells and Aunt Fern for a warm welcome. Then north to Uncle Wash and Aunt Hatties on Third East. Two blocks back and we are home from our Christmas walk, strengthened with the comfort of peace and goodwill.

Christmas was joyful in 1924, just as it is today. The time has changed, the heart has not. Love, gratitude, and peace still abound. Our savior still reigns. Our hearts swell with gratitude this Christmas as we see four of our own valiant missionaries going forth to proclaim His glorious gospel.