Religion, Politics and History

I like to think my day-to-day life is NOT dictated by any of the above ... especially religion and politics ... but I know it ain't so.  Last week, I learned something about my family tree that made me think.

Ten generations back  ... let's see, that would be my great-great-great-great-great ... emigrated to North America because of religion and politics.  Here's the story ... follow me through a historical journey:

1.  Jean Bricqet (or DeBrique), a "man of letters", an accountant or clerk, and his wife, Marie Alce Crabbe, along with at least 4 children left Artois, Pay-de-Calais, France in 1685.  1685 was notable for the St Bartholomew Massacre during which French streets "ran red with Huguenot blood".  Jean et famille were Huguenots ... Protestants in a country full of Roman Catholics.  He chose life in the Carolina Crown Colony over conversion or death.  Jean, whose name was Anglicized to John Brickey, and wife had at least 2 more children on this continent, including their youngest son Peter.  Jean died in 1718, and Marie Alce followed him about 7 years later.

2.  Peter Brickey, son of Jean and Marie Alce, was born around 1715 in Westmoreland County, Virginia.  He married Winifred Lucas, daughter of Charles Lucas and Temperance Smith, in 1738 and appears to have been a farmer (thanks to the help of 12 slaves whom he eventually willed to his children and grandchildren), except for a very brief bit of military service during the Revolutionary War.  Peter and Winifred had 8 children, including second son John Brickey.  Peter died in 1787.

3.  John Brickey, son of Peter and Winifred, was born around 1740 is Westmoreland County, Virginia, and before his 20th birthday, married Mary Elizabeth Garner, daughter of Thomas Garner and Rosemond Courtney.  Mary Elizabeth died in 1780, and John married a second wife, Jane Scott, 2 years later.  John and Jane only had 1 daughter, but John and Mary Elizabeth previously had 7 children, including eldest son Garrard Brickey.  John died in 1807 and is buried in Meyers Cemetery, Tuckaleechee Cove, Blount County, Tennessee.

4.  Jarrard Brickey (or Gerard), son of John and Mary Elizabeth, was born in 1760 in Botetourt, Westmoreland County, Virginia.  At age 21, he married Amy Compton, daughter of John Compton and Lydia Franz Carhart.  Jarrard and Amy had 8 children, including their second son Jeremiah.  The family moved to the French Broad Country in Cocke County, Tennessee in 1789, and then to Missouri in 1817.  Jarrard was widowed 10 years after moving to Missouri, but lived on to the ripe old age of 84 and was finally buried in the Brickey Cemetery on Hicks Farm in Crawford County, Missouri.  Records indicate Jarrard was a practising Baptist.

5.  Jeremiah Brickey, son of Jarrard and Amy, was born in 1788 in Botetourt, Virginia.  Jeremiah appears to have had a twin sister.  At the age of 28, Jeremiah married Frances North in Maryville, Crawford County, Tennessee.  Jeremiah and Frances had 6 daughters and 1 son.  Their second daughter was Lucinda, nicknamed Lucy.  Jeremiah died in Dade County, Missouri in 1855.

6.  Lucinda "Lucy" Brickey, daughter of Jeremiah and Frances, was born in Washington County, Missouri.  She married Aquilla Wilson in December 1825, and the couple had at least 1 child, William.  Lucinda died during the summer of 1888 in Washington County, Missouri.

7.  William Wilson, son of Lucinda Brickey and Aquilla Wilson, was born around 1826 in Washington County, Missouri.  William married petite, dark-eyed (I remember her photo) Louisa Dunlap in 1848.  Louisa was originally from Kentucky.  Over a quarter of a century, the couple had 9 children, ranging from the eldest, Henry Aquilla born around 1852, to the youngest, Ida Evalina born around 1874.

8.  Ida Evalina Wilson, daughter of William Wilson and Louisa Dunlap, was born around 1874 in Missouri.  She married "Hal" Albert William Herald, originally from Green Oak, Livingstone County, Michigan.  Family stories suggest they married in St Louis, Missouri.  Ida and Hal lived in Montana and had 4 daughters and 1 son.  Family stories claim that when their youngest daughter was born, Hal instructed the oldest 3 girls to come up with 2 names starting with the letter "H" before he named her "Happy Hooligan Herald".  They came up with "Hattie Hazel".  The family came to Canada around 1918 to 1920 and homesteaded at Charlie Lake, near Fort St John, BC, Canada.  Ida died at Fort St John in the late 1940s or early 1950s.

L to R:  children of Ida Evalina Wilson and Hal Herald,
Alta Mae (Herald) Roney,
Della Lee (Herald) Cuthill,
Raymond "Raymie" or "Boy" Herald
Hattie Hazel (Herald) Fennell
*Uncle Raymie is holding me, his favourite "nephew-girl"!

9.  Hattie Hazel Herald, daughter of Ida Evalina and Hal Herald, was born in 1908 in either Forsyth or Butte, Montana.  She recalled as a young girl leaving Montana with her family and a big herd of sheep.  The sheep were sold off at the Canadian border.  Homestead life was hard.  Hattie married Joseph Holt, a 30 year old Lancashire Englishman, in 1930 at Pouce Coupe, BC.  The marriage was very brief.  Shortly thereafter, Hattie left Northern BC by horseback with "Slim" Hermin William Fennell.  They lived through the Depression years in Southern BC, near the American border, and had 2 daughters, Betty Lou and Thelma Louise.  She was widowed in 1978, and passed on herself a couple of years ago in Summerland, BC.

10.  Another generation, and then I came into the picture.

I was raised up Pentecostal (there was no Baptist church in the town I grew up in, or I probably would have been a Baptist).  I loved the music (still love gospel music), but did not appreciate the emotional spontaneity of my childhood church, and I did not understand or appreciate their "My Way Or The Highway" philosophy to the exclusion ... or damnation to hell ... of all others.  Note:  I'm talking about me here ... I'm not criticizing anyone else's religion/beliefs.  The first time I attended quiet tiny St Gregory's Mission Church around age 12 or so, I felt at home. 

A few years later, I married a Roman Catholic and eventually converted formally.  I wonder what many-times-Great-grandpere Jean would say about that?  I am also aware that on the other side of my family tree, my many-times-Great-grand-Da was sent away from the English/Scottish borderlands to "plant" Protestantism in Northern Ireland.  Political/religious (or religious/political) decisions have certainly shaped my family tree!

But does that mean politics/religion shapes my day-to-day life? 

I have come to believe that RELIGION and FAITH are two different issues.  Note:  Again, I'm talking about me here ... I'm not criticizing anyone else's beliefs/religion.  My personal faith journey has been very interesting over the years, perhaps a little "unorthodox", and certainly never dull.  My personal faith journey might be considered "un-faith" by some as I have seriously questioned much and been openly rebellious often, and occasionally been disrespectful (as in poking fun at) toward most every organized brand of religion.  However, my faith / beliefs have never ... to my knowledge ... endangered my life or livelihood.  I have never had to emigrate in order to pursue my own faith journey. 

So have I answered my own question "does politics/religion shape my day-to-day life"? Not really ... but it's been interesting to ponder, as has my family history.


On the knitting front, I did a little thinking pink over the weekend ...

Bottom ribbing almost done ...

Bottom ribbing complete and one arm started ...

 I would have done a little more thinking pink, but discovered a new yarn shop on Friday and consequently this sock yarn just happened to come home with me ...

Sock #1 started.
The pattern is called "Poet's Rib" ... suitable for "Poems Sock Yarn", yes?

Sock #1 ... heel turned ...
I had to think hard on this as I usually knit from the toe up,
and so usually shape heels differently than this.

Sock #1 ... almost to the toes!
Very interesting shades of grey variegated in this soft wool.

It was sunny then cloudy then sunny then cloudy then sunny then cloudy ... you get the picture ... over the weekend, so when Mizz Bootz and I weren't out on the balcony basking in the sun ...

... and keeping a sharp lookout for those pesky helicopters [hummingbirds] ...

... we nearly finished the first sock!  (I say "we" because she "assists"!)  All that thinking and pondering and knitting made it an interesting and productive weekend.

Et vous???

My earliest religious influences

Since my last post was about the "bad guys" I adored growing up, I thought I'd share some of my early religious (read "good guys") influences. Talk about conflicting values! Grams was PENTECOSTAL (with a capital P). Pentecostals -- like Grams -- did not associate with Catholics. Pentecostals taught their good little boys and girls that one could end up spending eternity in hell for stepping into a Catholic Church or even a Catholic home! (The ecumenical movement had not begun yet in the 1950s or 1960s, and even if it had, it certainly had not reached small town BC!) Grams said all Roman Catholics worshipped idols and drank Christian blood. This led to some serious confusion on my part. 1960. Roxy's birthday party. Red Koolaid. Needless to say, I didn't drink any of the stuff!

Grams dragged me to Church with her -- whether I protested or not, and usually I did protest vigorously -- and she did her darnedest to ensure I did not associate with non-Pentecostals (except for our Baptist friends -- they were encouraged). However, Grams was not with me every moment of my life. For example, she wasn't with me when "Mommy F" let toddler me play with her little porcelain dollies and pretty beads. ("Mommy F" was a good old-fashioned Catholic whose home was filled with Holy Statues and Rosaries. "Mommy F" taught me how to make the Sign of The Cross and kiss her pretty beads.) Grams wasn't with me when "Mom" (I had a lot of chosen mothers and grandmothers in my upbringing.) dragged me to this lovely little Catholic mission one Sunday. Okay, Protestants might want to stop reading at this point. Please know that I'm not criticizing Protestants or Pentecostals. Honest. I'm just relating my own experiences and the religious things that influenced me while I was growing up. The above lovely little Catholic mission had a huge and profound effect on me! For the very first time in my life, I walked into a church and felt a sense of peace. I felt like I had just arrived home. (I still have that feeling every time I walk into a Catholic Church today. Can't stand a lot of Catholic doctrine, but that's another story for another time.) I loved the service, even though Mass was still said in Latin and I couldn't understand the words. There were no fire-and-brimstone-preaching evangelists. There were no emotional outbursts of "tongues". Mass was like beautiful poetry to my ears, or maybe like soothing music. It's not necessary to understand the words if one listens with one's soul.

Grams wasn't usually around when I watched television. She preferred to go to bed (and get away from us) and read her Harlequin Romances. (Hmm ... do you suppose her Pastor would have approved of THAT?) My Dad and I watched television together, and he was game to watch most anything. (In those days, we only had one or two channels so there wasn't a lot of choice.) My Dad and I also went to the Public Library together, and he was game to let me read whatever caught my fancy (neither of us were interested in Harlequin Romances). One of my favourite stories was A Nun's Story, a fabulous book and 1959 movie. Oh how I wanted to go to a convent and become a Bride of Christ ... to have my horrible red hair shorn away ... to take the habit like Sister Luke / Audrey Hepburn! And I wasn't even Roman Catholic! Had my Pentecostal peers ... who also firmly believed all Catholics worshipped idols and drank Christian blood ... known my secret, they would have called a big tent prayer meeting with a dozen fire-and-brimstone-preaching evangelists just to straighten me out! Despite the danger to my immortal soul, I wanted a visit from -- indeed, a relationship with! -- the Blessed Virgin Mary like young Bernadette Soubirou in Song of Bernadette, the account of Mary's miraculous appearance at Lourdes, France in the 1850s. I kept those secret desires to myself -- "pondering" them in my heart -- and did not share my profound admiration for Sister Luke or Bernadette Soubirou with my Pentecostal peers.

And they turned out to be difficult secrets to keep! Back in the 1960s, the times they were a'changin' ...

First of all, the small and relatively homogenous BC town I grew up in experienced a new influx of immigrants. Catholic immigrants. Catholic immigrants from a European country that had experienced its own May 13, 1917 miraculous appearance of the Blessed Virgin Mary. I already knew about that event. My Dad and I had enjoyed the 1952 black and white movie, Miracle of Our Lady of Fatima each Christmas. (I have no idea why CBC repeated that particular movie each Christmas season!) Then one May evening, our small town's new immigrants launched their very own candlelit procession in honour of Our Lady of Fatima. The first time I heard that lovely hymn, A Treze de Maio, something became very clear to me ... that adoration of Our Lady was much more than a young girls whims! However, I continued to bide in silence around my Pentecostal peers.

It all fell apart in 1970 when the Beatles released Let It Be. Now remember, I was NOT a Beatles fan. I was a Johnny Cash (and temporarily, Waylon Jennings) fan. I thought the Beatles were loud, obnoxious, and irrelevant ... until Let It Be (and maybe Yesterday). Let It Be spoke to me! Let It Be MEANT something! That song meant I could no longer keep my Catholic secrets secret. So I didn't. One Friday evening at a Pentecostal youth meeting with an open mike, I picked up my guitar and sang Let It Be. (Actually it was a rebellious duet. Shirley B., an age-peer and neighbour who was busy rebelling at her own Mennonite upbringing, performed with me.) The pastor's wife turned six shades of red and barely contained herself through the second chorus before informing me the likes of that was totally inappropriate!

And I didn't care anymore! I had finally acknowledged that I was influenced by ... indeed, WAS ... not what Grams envisioned for me. And I still am ... unique and religiously complex.