READ: Part One
NOTE: The last of the Laightons to recall life on Appledore Island, Barbara Laighton Durant (1891-1982) recorded her brief memoir in 1978. In this second and final section, she reveals a deeply detailed and personal view of day-to-day life during a full year on the Isles of Shoals. As the youngest child, following the death of her father, Cedric Laighton, she was an independent spirit, wandering the island and soaling up memories never revealed before. This essay comes from the Laighton Family Papers in the Shoals Collection at the Portsmouth Athenaeum. – JDR
Random Childhood Memories of Appledore Island, Part 2
By Barbara Laighton Durant
Washing before breakfast was quite a job, as we had no running water in our rooms, and had to use a bowl and pitcher, the latter being filled with undrinkable water. Slops were emptied into the ever-present slop jar.
When I was well, I had a room in the middle of the top floor. It had a dormer window, through which the light from the lighthouse on White Island flashed. This light was a great comfort to me, and I depended on it as one would on a good friend. It was a perfect way to end the day.
To return to my convalescence: Dr. Joseph Warren, who was the resident physician, took charge of me. Everybody was very kind to me, and by the end of the summer, I was able to take part in the usual activities.
People came to sell their wares to the guests on the noon boat, and stayed until the boat left again for Portsmouth at three. Through the summer there was a variety of new merchandise offered: laces, linens, and sweet-grass baskets made and sold by Indians. The boarders seemed very interested, and often bought from them. Their wares were displayed on the piazza or in the parlor. Once in a while a hand-organ man arrived with his monkey. He stayed below the piazza, and the children gathered around him with glee, ready to put their pennies in the little tin cup that the monkey held out. This was a great occasion in the lives of us young ones.
In the afternoon the orchestra played on the piazza, and in the evening it played in the recreation room, for dancing. This large room which occupied the whole first floor of the south wing of the hotel, had a stage with dressing rooms, used for entertainments put on by the residents. It was also used for lectures, magicians, and the Hampton Singers, all of whom would come to the island on different evenings to entertain us. Children must have been allowed at these occasions, for I remember them very well.
We used to put on “Black-face” shows. I recall how embarrassed I got at forgetting my lines, and the messy condition we got into trying to remove the burnt cork used to darken us. On Sundays, Mr. Wood conducted the morning service in this room. This was the Episcopalian Morning Prayer. Once, during the summer, there was a Help’s Ball. I used to peek through the windows to watch it, along with many others. They all had a wonderful time, and we, gazing at them, enjoyed it immensely.
My memory of childhood on the island was one of complete security–except for two places. A small bear had been given to the island and, during the winter, disappeared. It appeared again in the spring, grown to such a size that it had to be removed from the island. I had the idea that it had hidden in a crevice of a rock on one of the paths. This path had high bushes on either side, and as a little girl walking along, I was haunted by the story of the bear hiding nearby. I was terrified,and hurried past in fear and trembling. As a matter of fact, I saw by looking at it, that this crevice could hardly hold a bear of any size, yet I shivered as I went by, and took a certain delight in this scary adventure.
The other place was at the beginning of the road which led under the piazza. Here was the entrance to the bar and bowling alleys. Of course in those days, ladies did not think of going to the bar, and I must have been severely warned never to stop by there, for I almost held my breath as I rushed past the entrance on my way to the bake shop, where I could pick up something good to eat.
In the afternoon, the guests had many choices of activity, but generally it seemed to be the time when most of them took to the rocks. I remember watching Childe Hassam working at his easel there, and at other places on the island. As far as I know, he did not seem to mind an audience. I am sure that many other and equally well-known artists were watched by me, but the one who stands out in my memories is Childe Hassam. It seems as if I knew him as almost part of the family, he had come to Appledore Island for so many years. He continued to come after Aunt Celia’s death.
Searching for small forms of life in the tidal pools, sometimes under the guidance of an expert, Mr. Farlow, had to take place at low tide. The times for this and for watching the surf, therefore, had to vary. I loved to do both of these things.
The Thaxter cottage piazza was a busy place. Mrs. Van Sinderen, Mr. Mason’s daughter, and Mr. Mason, and the Bigelows all had rooms in the cottage. They sat, together with their friends, in the rocking chairs, engaged in lively conversation. They were shaded from the sun by heavy vines, yet had a lovely view over land and sea. At one end of the piazza was a swing, made for me by my father, which was a great attraction to my friends. We could reach dizzying heights. One day while swinging, a friend and I got into an argument on the subject of Original Sin. (Don’t ask me why we did, or how I happen to remember it now.) We were both very firm in our opinions, and it ended with my friend telling me that I was headed for Hell. We didn’t speak to each other for several days, but this vital matter was soon forgotten, and we became friends again.
Mrs. VanSinderen tried to break me of the habit of beginning each sentence with “say.” They were all so kind in trying to bring me up when my mother had her hands full. In my convalescence they came to see me, bearing gifts.
Down the steps to the Thaxter Cottage, and passing the boardwalks to the Sheafe, Clark, and Brown Cottages, one came to the wonderful hotel piazza. The piazza was quite a walk from start to finish. Sometimes the guests took their exercise there instead of by the road. Eight times from one end to the other made a mile.
Against the wall of the north wing of the hotel, there were benches for watching the tennis tournaments. These grass courts always seemed to be in use, and they were kept in good shape. If no matches were in progress, the beginners were allowed to play. I was in this class.
Inside the wing were bedrooms, and on the first floor, a room devoted to billiard tables. I had fun watching my father play. He was quite renowned for his skill. When I was tall enough, he let me try. There was so much to do, what with croquet, tennis, billiards, swimming, bowling, fishing, sailing, rowing, clambering over the rocks, going over to Star and other islands, or just sitting on the piazza rocking and chatting. It was just a question of wind and weather which to choose. Walking on down the piazza, one came to the cafe, a popular place to gather for a talkfest while cooling off with an ice cream soda.
The next stop was the main building, with plenty of chairs outside and in. The office itself was large, with a broad counter and lots of pictures on the walls. There was a writing room and a big fireplace that used to give out a cheery warmth on a damp day. Card games were held in the parlor, where in the early evening the children took over for their special games. I have no idea who arranged all these games and entertainments.
Between the parlor and the stairs was a shop run by Miss Annabel. She sold Gibralters and Blackjacks (Oh! so good!) She carried books and everything that a guest might need, including boxes of Page and Shaw candies.
Jutting out from the covered piazza was an open platform with benches and chairs where we could sun ourselves, and which allowed the one tall tree, an Elm, to grow. Uncle Oscar kept his telescope here. He enjoyed showing off the moon and the planets to us all, with a lecture on them thrown in for good measure. We all got a thrill out of that. Uncle Oscar had a birthday the end of June, which was celebrated on the fourth of July. A bonfire was set off on a rock at the further end of the pool, perhaps on Bass Rock. While we watched, a birthday cake was passed around. I looked forward to this event with eagerness.
I hate to think that Broad Cove has been wrecked by the storm. It is an old friend of mine. I wonder about the cranberry bog where we used to pick berries. There was a small patch of delicious wild strawberries at the western end of it. A group of children played on Broad Cove, under the care of nurses brought to the island by their parents. I joined this group during my earliest childhood. We found pretty stones and climbed over the big rocks. Driftwood and strange objects from far off wrecks found their journey’s end here. Every pleasant afternoon we went east or west, depending on wind and tide for our choice. Blue Beach was another favorite. It might have had an inch or two of real sand. The Laighton Cottage and the Reservoir
were nearby. Diamond Cove, just south of Babbs Cove, was small, but interesting, and of course, “The Castle” provided endless games for the older children.
I forgot to mention the cheer we gave our departing friends as the Viking backed away from the wharf: “AP–PLE–DOR–eeeee–Appledore,” calling out their names as we waved goodbye.
A spyglass was halfway up the steps leading to the Anderson Cottage. During the season the boarders liked to scan the coast and spot the Viking on her way. During the winter we spent on the island, we used it very often as a form of entertainment, and as an anxious watchout for the Sam Adams bringing mail, and sometimes, friends.
It was the New Year of 1901 that we celebrated during the winter that we spent on Appledore. My oldest sister, Ruth, was at Radcliffe taking a course in music, leaving my mother and myself and Margaret to enjoy the adventure of a winter on the island.
We had an apartment of 2 rooms and a bathroom over the “ordinary.” The ordinary was a small kitchen when compared to the large summer kitchen with which it was connected, but it was plenty large enough for cooking, eating, and living quarters. It contained a big stove, a long table where the maintenance men and fishermen sat with us to have meals, a sink, a working table, and comfortable chairs.
There was probably quite a bit more that I don’t remember. Windows on the south side gave lots of light. They looked across the cranberry bog to the hill above. Our room had the same view. Addie cooked, and fed us well. I do not remember how much help we had, but there was enough so that we ourselves did not have to do any house-keeping, and the heavy outside work was taken care of by sufficient manpower. This kitchen had a door opening into the long summer dining room. Our rooms got heat from a register above the kitchen stove which let the hot air drift up into the larger room that my mother and I shared, and which served as a living room for the three of us. Margaret had a small bedroom leading out of this. She got no heat, but had to get along with what heat she could get from our room. My mother and I had a double bed, large enough so that she could get out of it without waking me, for on Christmas morning, I found myself surrounded by all kinds of wonderful presents. I’m sure these rooms must have been where my grandfather and grandmother Laighton first lived on coming to the island.
The steam laundry was shut up, I imagine, after a hard summer’s work of washing and ironing the hotel linen and also the clothes of the guests. The Help’s dormitories were mostly empty, although the winter help must have used a few rooms. All the cottages, including the small ones on the slope behind the Bowditch Cottage were deserted–the studio, Karl’s, the night watchman’s and the Band cottage near Broad Cove. The boardwalks were taken up and the piazza swept clear of chairs and movable benches so that the snow would not ruin them.
In going through the door from the ordinary to the front door of the hotel, I was struck by the utter bleakness of the large dining room, and on through the empty office to the snow-covered piazza; it was a depressing journey. But once through it, I gloried in that wonderful feeling of aloneness in my very own kingdom.
I knew very well every nook and cranny, every bush and berry of Appledore. That was the beauty of a small island. I felt it was my kingdom–truly mine. How very many before and after me must have felt the same way. Even now, in the year 1978 there must be some who feel that way.
Strange to say, I never felt lonely. I made up games to play by myself. I watched Margaret busy at her chores. I watched the cows, and was present at the birth of a calf. What with the livestock (horses, cows, dogs, cats, chickens, roosters, ducks) storms, and Margaret’s attempts every morning to teach me, a recalcitrant pupil, time went fast. I got mad at Margaret sometimes, and threw my books around in a disgraceful manner. Margaret had complete charge of the hen coop, managed the setting of the hens, gathered the eggs, and fought off the rats. I can see her now, huddled in a corner guarding her charges. I always thought she was shooting them, but in checking with her daughter, Rosamond Pickhardt, I am told that she sat quietly until a large gathering of the creatures crowded to inspect her, and then suddenly she made a terrific clatter and bang and scared them all away for the time being. At any rate, that is what she told her daughter.
Nothing ever phased Margaret. She thrived on danger and overcoming it. In the summer she and her teenage friends, particularly Franklin Martin, were always up to some daredevil exploits. I heard about some of them, and I looked on at others with admiration. Uncle Oscar taught her how to telegraph, which was luck for the crew of a ship wrecked on Duck Island. They rowed over to Appledore for help. It was a stormy passage, but their only hope. Uncle Oscar lived on Star but he was away at that time, or we would have telephoned him to telegraph the Coast Guard. Their station was on the mainland, and the telephone cable was only connected between the two islands. Margaret was the only one who knew Morse Code, so over she went with the crew to Star. The Coast Guard was contacted, and they came out to set things as straight as possible. It was a rough journey, and I remember Margaret’s wet woolen skirt flapping about her legs. She was glad to get it off. I am hazy concerning what action the Coast Guard took, but I do remember that the crew was grateful, and as their boat was laden with halibut, we had a feast for many days. Life would not have been so exciting if we had not had Margaret to keep things humming.
We had some marvelous winter storms. One special Nor’easter, that I shall not forget, produced mountainous waves that towered above us, breaking on the rocks near where we stood. It was an awesome sight, but nothing to compare with the storm of 1978.
I have forgotten to mention the ice pond. It was on the south side of the island. There was an ice house beside it, where the ice cakes were stored for summer use. I remember standing on the pond when the ice was marked in oblong blocks ready to be cut.
Oh, yes! There was plenty to do during that Appledore winter! Thus it ends with gratitude on my part for happy memories of a wonderful island and a wonderful family to make it my home.
Author Note: I am hazy about this whole episode and after reading my sister Margaret’s diary for this winter, it seems that my memories do not coincide with what really
SEE: A brief history of the Isles of Shoals
Childhood Memories of the Appledore Island Hotel, Part 1