Madison County History and Genealogy

History and Genealogy



History of Madison County


Town of London


From History of Madison County, Ohio, Chester E. Bryan, Supervising Editor, B.F. Bowen & Co., Indianapolis (1915)

The following is an article taken from the Woman's Edition of the London Times of April 30, 1914, and it is regarded as quite certain that no better article than this could be written as a preface to the history of that town:

LONDON: ITS PAST, PRESENT AND FUTURE

By Sallie Dooris

The history of London is yet to be written. Old times are becoming mere traditions. With the passing years things as they "used to be" are vanishing in the mists of forgetfulness.

London needs a historian who will wrest from the shadows of the past the life, manners and customs of the early settlers, giving to them concrete form, showing the true worth and work of the old pioneers, who lived in the beginning of Madison county and London history.

To live, to work, to be happy, to suffer, to die and be forgotten, is bitterness indeed. To the Christian there is bliss unspeakable in the hope of immortality. There is a lesser, more earthly joy not alien to the heavmily; in the longing for remembrance in one's home county after this fitful life is over. For this, records are kept, biographies written, histories compiled. Who will be London's historian?

The Accomodating Mr. M'Lene

The story is told that Patrick McLene, of Scotch-Irish ancestry, was commissioned to lay out the village of London. This he did in 1810, inheriting traits from across the sea, where it rains if you look up at the sky; or, in other words, rain falls twenty nine out of the thirty days, he was determined that the inhabitants of the hamlet, named after the great English metropolis, should have, weather permitting, sunshine in every room of every house some part of the day, which accounts for our streets not running according to the point of the compass, due north and south, east and west. Mr. McLene accomplished his purpose so well that strangers, first coming to the town, are at a loss to determine in what direction to look for the rising and setting of the sun. But all the same, the sun performs its glorious mission of dispelling microbes and malaria, and to him, a hundred years later, we take off our hats.

In 1810 Ohio was included in the "Far West," a vague region, sparsely inhabited and full of possibilities for the seeker of adventure and the man of slim purse. Land was cheap and plenty of the best could be bought for thirty-seven and one-half cents an acre; inferior as low as twelve and a half cents. People came from the east and south in covered wagons that looked like schooners with a coarse dirty white sunbonnet drawn over them. These wagons carried the entire worldly possessions and household goods, besides the parents and children. A pair of horses. sometimes an ox team, drew them. By 1812 London boasted six or eight families. Life was on the most primitive lines. Madison county is a high table land between the Miami and Scioto rivers. London, according to the railroad survey, is three hundred and eighty-nine feet higher than Columbus. When the early settlers came most of the land was under water. Ponds were numerous, wild fowl abounded, ague and malaria as a matter of course. The spirit of enterprise was strong. The forests were cleaned, ponds and swamps drained, the land reclaimed.

TRUNDLE-BED AND GREASE-LAMP TIME

Log cabins of one room were the first houses. The family cooked, ate, slept in that one room and thanked God for a roof to cover them. A four-post bed with a corded bottom supported a tick filled with straw; on top perhaps was a feather bed. At night a child was tucked in at the foot; and if father and mother were long of limb, the poor youngster got many a prod. The trundle-bed, kept beneath the larger one, was drawn out in the twilight and the larger children were sent to bed with the chickens.

Nature was prodigal of her lights in these early times and babies were plentiful. Each cabin was a "plant" in miniature. Nearly every house boasted a weaver's loom, spinning wheels being part of the furniture. Sheep were kept to afford wool for the winter clothing. Flax was a usual crop and every stage of its preparation gone through with on the farm to fit it for being woven into linen for the household's wear. In the long winter evenings the light from the wide-mouthed fireplace illuminated the room. For more particular tasks, a grease lamp was hung on the wall, containing any kind of rendered fat that was most convenient, sometimes lard or drippings, the wick a bit of old linen or a strip of flannel. Work was work in those days. Verily they rose up early and sat up late and ate the bread of carefulness. Every occupation that is now performed by machinery was done by hand in those days. Shoes were worn in the winter by parents, if well-to-do; also in summer. The older children were generally shod, at least in cold weather, but it was a common sight to see little boys barefoot all the year.

For pleasures, there were corn huskings—just the kind that laborers get two dollars a day for now, and considered hard work; apple cuttings, quiltings, barn raisings, pastimes of a laborious sort. The first church in London was a Methodist meeting house. It was of logs and stood on the southwest corner of Walnut and Fifth streets, occupied at present by a double frame dwelling house. Diagonally across the road was the Methodist graveyard, long since abandoned, at present converted into sites of modern residences.

OLDEST HOUSE IN LONDON

What is considered to be the oldest house in London was formerly built by the Presbyterian body as a place of worship. It stands on the southwest corner of Oak and Fifth streets, a tribute to the good workmanship and stanch oak timbers of long ago. The Presbyterian burying ground was far out of the town, but the last resting place of these early forefathers and mothers, like that of the Methodist brethren, was disturbed by modern advancement and the secred ground has been taken for secular use.

As time progressed, the grease-lamp on the kitchen wall was not sufficient to light the house. From one room the demands of the family required more space, additions were made, sleeping apartments were built on, and then the candle dip was evolved. They were made of strands of candle wick, dipped and re-dipped in a kettle of boiling water and tallow. It was a slow and laborious process, this dipping and cooling and re-dipping until the requisite size was attained. Dozens and dozens would be made at a time, sufficient for half a year at least.

When ready for use they resembled a long icicle and were placed in candlesticks, the thick end in the socket. By this light, the family sewing and quilting was done and other avocations during the long winter evenings. Where did the tallow come from that made the dips? Once or twice a year a beef was slaughtered to provide meat for the family or community. The suet was "tried out" and great cakes of tallow were produced for the candle dipping and other domestic uses. Then some genius invented candle molds, the candle dip disappeared, giving way to "molded candles." A mold, with compartments to make anywhere from three to twelve candles at a time, was a grand improvement and lightened labor. Many an attic in our London homes can count among the banished relics, candle molds that ought to adorn a museum. Snuffers were a necessity and the early instruction of children included how to snuff candles properly, for if not careful it was an easy matter to snuff the candle out, and then where would one be!

Mrs. Lucy Beach remembers when a child, attending evening service at the Methodist church in Lafayette and seeing Brother Joseph Bradley, of sainted memory, going up one side of the meeting house and down the other, while the hymn was being sung, snuffing the candles and joining in with fervor "Alas and Did My Savior Bleed," the congregation taking it as a matter of course.

"UNCLE SAMMY" DAVIDSON

Mr. Samuel Davidson, better known as "Uncle Sammy," was born in 1812. He could tell of the time when men's clothes were fastened with hooks and eyes, not like the diminutive things worn now-a-days by women, but great strong ones an inch or so long. Uncle Sammy kept a diary from his early manhood days to shortly within a few months of his death in 1901. It is to be regretted that the passing of events as noted by him is not accessible, as much of interest could be culled from its pages for the benefit of the present generation and those to come.

"Going visiting" was an important item. Formal invitations setting the day and hour, as we do now, were unknown. "Come and see me" expressed volumes. It meant the latch string was out and the "big and little pot" would be put on. When the ploughing and spring planting were done, or the harvest over and a lull came in the work, then the springless wagon would be brought forth, the axles greased, a litter of straw or sweet smelling hay would be plentifully sprinkled in the bottom, the old gray mare harnessed in and the entire family would sally forth to swoop down on some relative or acquaintance, four or five miles away. On their arrival there would be a hearty welcome, the men herding off to themselves, the children to the barn or yard, and the women sitting down to a good gossip. Before noon there was a squawking and squealing of chickens that would be later served up with the crow scarcely out of their throats. And oh! such a dinner. Everything on the table at once. It was a drop-leaf table, too—none of your extension sort. A snowy homespun linen cloth of the mistress' spinning and weaving. Napkins were unknown. There would be chicken and mashed potatoes and tomatoes and soda biscuit and jelly and pickle and three or four kinds of pie, with a bottom crust as thick as a board and shortened with lard. Then there were butters of all sorts, at least six or seven kinds. Last of all the preserves; usually quince, the color and consistency of leather and eaten with rich cream. There was no dyspepsia those days but dinners such as described were surely the forerunner of later woes.

When the dishes were washed and placed on the dresser shelves, the women had the house to themselves and the real entertainment, from a feminine point of view, began. Then it was the old chests would be opened and patch-work quilts, many-hued and gorgeous, displayed. Proud was she who could show the "Flying Star," done in blue and white. The "Sunflower" quilt. the "Tulip" quilt in red and yellow calico. The "Nine Patch," "The Irish Chain" and many, many others. The quilting was beautifully fine and represented millions of stitches put in by hand. When the visitors' eyes were sufficiently dazzled by the display, the hostess' dresses were next on view. If the husband was a "good provider" and allowed his helpmeet the "hen and butter money," there would be at least a dozen gowns, wrong side out, hanging on nails driven into the whitewashed wall. Calico dresses, stuff dresses, at least one "all wool delaine," a "cashmere" dress and among the "400" an "oil-boiled" black silk, sacred to weddings and usually the burying robe, when life's tasks were ended.

THE COAL OIL LAMP

Following the molded candles, the acme of illumination was reached when civilization introduced that wonder of wonders, the "coal oil lamp!" Evil smelling though it was, it seemed to have descended with some of the radiance of heaven. It was kept on a center table along with the Holy Bible and album in a sacred apartment called "the room," kept shut for six days and on the seventh opened up for sister and her "beau." Passing time forbids dwelling on that halcyon prriod.

As the town grew its boundaries as platted by Mr. McLene, widened and nearby pasture and farm lands were swallowed up in its environs. Mr. William Crawford Minter, father of Mrs. George Van Wagner came to London in 1829 when a boy of thirteen years. He remembers when Elm Street was a swampy tract, through which a corduroy road led to the wilds of the country. The splendid elm tree which gives the present street its name, was nearly as large then as it is now. That was eighty-five years ago. It is interesting to note that the late Mr. William Chandler had the honor of naming this Street.

Mr. Jonathan Arnett, who passed away in 1904, remembered the time when the country girls and boys came to town. They walked barefooted until they reached this tree, when they sat down under its shade and put on their shoes and stockings and made their grand entry. This fine old tree has been a landmark for generations, measured around the trunk, about three feet from the ground, its girth is fifteen feet. It has been hacked and sawed and chopped and badly treated. Its branches have been lopped off to make room for telegraph and telephone lines. Its life has been threatened again and again. But amid all the trials and destructions and desecrations it has passed through at the hand of man, the birds build in its branches and sing their matins and vesper praise. The winds whisper sweet messages of comfort through its leaves. Nature is kind to her child, for neither storm nor tempest or thunderbolt of lightning has ever marred its beauty. Only man is the sinner. Out Elm street way is another grand old elm measuring over fifteen feet in circumference. Unlike the first-named tree, it has had a happy existence, growing in the rear of the premises occupied by J. P. Skinner, few know of its whereabouts. Early in the past century this part of London was a pond, and when wash day came the women from all around brought their baskets and kettles of strong soft soap and did their washings there, drying their laundry on the grass and the nearby bushes. Ah, me! life was young then.

Speaking of elm trees, the finest of all is growing in the grounds of Mrs. Emmelyn Richmond, at her beautiful home, rightly named, "Elmwood." This splendid specimen towers aloft skyward, shapely and symmetrical. Three feet from the ground its circumference is thirty-one feet. Under its protecting shade children have played for generations, among the number being General Darius Warner, of St. John's, New Brunswick, who, when a lad, was a frequent visitor of his grandfather Warner, who lived close by.

A POPULAR PICNIC GROUND

To settle the question how elm trees are propagated, the writer sent a letter of inquiry to the Ohio agricultural experiment station at Wooster, Ohio, receiving the following reply:

"Wooster, Ohio, April 9, 1914.

"Elm trees do not grow from cuttings. The only way the age of a tree may be determined is by cutting it and counting the rings.

"Some of our elm trees are as old as 200 years, but the average elm does not live that long, especially in our cities. The original forest elms also grow to 300 years of age, but the average life is 200 or 250 years.

"Very truly yours,
EDMUND SECREST, Forester."

It were vandalism indeed to mutilate or cut down such splendid trees. They link us to the past. If tree surgery can prolong their length of days, let it be applied, no matter what the trouble or cost.

Just opposite Mrs. Richmond's residence, in the early days, was a tract of woodland, where children loved to pick the first spring flowers. It was a popular picnic ground; Fourth of July celebrations were held there, and much good oratory and patriotism were poured forth on such occasions. It, too, has been absorbed and comfortable homes and pretty villas occupy the spot.

There are those living who remember the time when some of our prettiest streets were only a foot-path in the trampled grass. Then plank walks appeared to give way to brick pavements. Those, too, have disappeared, and concrete is the vogue; we cannot but wonder what next?

The look restrospective is tinged with loving tenderness. The old log house, the wide-mouthed fireplace, the homespun garments have gone with tallow dip forever. We would not wish them back. Today the secrets of earth, air and water are being exploited. London today is in a state of transition.

We are living in an experimental age. "Progress" is the watchword. London of the past compared with London of the present is as different as the red springless wagon creaking along the mud road is to the electric cars whirling rapidly through the country.

Possibly the solution may be attributed more to the use of natural gas and electricity than to any other forces. Science is in the lead and through change and experiment will be evolved the London of the future. The Greater London is reaching out long arms to embrace Summerford and Lafayette. Will they care for the moving? Perhaps our sister Lafayette may yet call the splendid temple of justice "ours." Old times recall the story of Mrs. Mary Minter, mother of Mr. Crawford Minter, London's oldest inhabitant, when there was a rivalry between London and Lafayette as to which should be county seat, and get the new court house, Mrs. Minter declared: "I'd be willing to carry every brick that built it in my apron!" That was the true stuff in the makeup of Madison county foremothers! Gran'ma Minter did not succeed, but the spirit of her words still lives. The old "red brick" mansion in Lafayette, occupied by Mr. Ferguson Taylor and Mrs. Taylor, gave hospitality to the eighth President of the United States, Martin Van Buren, traveling at that time through the country by stage coach. The beautiful residences on Lafayette road are extending eastward to the quaint little village of the same name. After awhile they will meet and then—?

A VISION OF THE FUTURE

In this year of grace, 1914, the lawmakers of the state decreed that a site near London be purchased for a home where, surrounded by the elevating influences of pure air, pure water, God's sky and Mother Nature, men, not altogether bad, might take heart of grace and lead a new life. Here is London's opportunity. Will London's best men and women rise equal to it?

London's Federation of Women's Clubs have their work before them. Will they do it?

As, the man and_woman, a hundred years ago, worked together, side by side, each doing his own allotted task, not the other's, so ought the man and woman work today.

There is a wandering stream running through the town, called Glade run; its progress is impeded by old tin cans, brickbats and other unsightly debris. In the vision of the future the stream will be made a thing of beauty, equaling the classic streams of Cam and Isis, which flow through the university towns of Cambridge, and Oxford, England. Like these streams, Glade run (the name must not be changed, for it links the past) will be spanned with beautiful bridges where it intersects roadways and streets, the bed will be dredged to give depth to the stream. Gardens and grounds will gently slope on either side, covered with verdure. Reeds and rushes and flags with aquatic plants will abound. Fish will glide over the sandy bed, pebbled with stones rivaling those of a monarch's crown in color. Is this a dream? It can be made a reality.

THE CHILDREN

And the vision of a London beautiful concerns the children. "And the streets of the city shall be full of boys and girls playing in the streets thereof." Ah, the children! The men and women of the future. Those who make the laws and those who keep them! In this town there is to be not a scrap of paper to be seen lying about; the school yard, the alley ways, the streets are scrupulously kept. When the boys and girls who had such a good time when they were little, grow up, the lessons in neatness learned when they were young have taken such strong hold on them, their children have imbibed the same spirit of orderliness, so that not a candy sack or stick or stone is to be found where it ought not to be.

There would be no toy guns or slingshots in the City of Dreams. Birds would rest securely in their trees and close to the house. Their songs would be the first sound and last at daybreak and evening. Instead of few there would be many red birds and blue birds and thrushes and robins. Bunny would not fly to cover with heart in his mouth; and the squirrels, so tamed with kindness, would eat out of the children's hands.

A building of stately proportions rises before the mental vision. Over its portals inscribed the words, "London and Madison County Museum." Every article of domestic use associated with the old log cabin is found within its walls. Spinning wheels, both large and small; looms and their products, patch-work quilts, old dresses, rescued from the garret's oblivion and dust, and all the implements used in early farming from ploughshare to pruning hook.

In a "loan collection" the chairs that Patrick McLene sat in and the surveying instruments he used in laying out the town would be exhibited.

As old Rome preserves the traditions of the wolf and the geese and has them enshrined at the entrance of the capital, so too, might London enshrine these early mementoes.

"These labored and we have entered into their labors."

A MEMORIAL HALL

Is it too much to ask that once in a while we give a thought to those who toiled, sweated and bore the brunt of flaying the forests, draining the swamps, their bodies racked with fever and ague?

As stated in the beginning of this article, Madison county is a high tableland. London is 1,054 feet above sea level. Compared to it, Cincinnati is a hole in the ground. From its eminence one can look down, as it were, on Cleveland, Dayton, Columbus and many other cities and towns in Ohio (of large size). When the first settlers came, theirs was the task of draining the swampy land, where London started.

They braved the dangers of fever and malaria and rattlesnakes. They sowed that we might reap. Then the soldiers and sailors who gave their lives and shed their blood to guard the country from foes by land and sea. What of them? Are they to be forgotten? When I think of Noah Thomas, handicapped from early manhood with his empty sleeve and John Simpson, limping.on a cane, and the scarred and seamed faces of the renmants of the army of the Blue that gather in diminishing numbers year after year to remember their comrades on Memorial Day, and place a flag at every grave, the thought comes: Will the people of London and Madison county be so base, so heartless to let these noble men be forgotten? In the vision of the future a splendid building will be erected called "Memorial Hall," on whose walls be inscribed the names of these, the founders and defenders of their country. A building sacred to the memory of "The Soldiers, Sailors and Pioneers."

In the visionary city, aircraft has become the most perfect and safest mode of transit. One hundred years hence the present-day motor car corresponds to the springless wagon of one hundred years ago. The horse has disappeared; stuffed specimens being exhibited in museums to show what was once called "man's best friend."

Telephone and telegraph wires have been superseded by an improved system undreamed of at the present time. Science has solved the problem of the equalization of temperature. No longer will the torrid heat of midsummer exhaust the inhabitants, for the excessive cold of winter has been condensed in tanks to be distributed in every community; turn on a tap and the air becomes cool.

In winter the homes of the rich and poor alike will be made comfortable from the surplus heat of summer that has been stored according to the best approved methods.

Best of all, to the milk consumers, the "separator" has disappeared!

The vision ended.


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