Bacon Scrapins – “Knock, knock”
by Barry S. Wolfe
Bacon Scrapins are the little bits of meat left in the greasy fry pan. They’re tasty, but the ‘nutrition’ needs searching for. This tale is a bacon scrapin.
I’ve been attending Remembrance Day ceremonies for years. One year I noticed that folks were duly respectful of all protocols at appropriate times, but it seemed that there was no personal connection between the attendees and the veterans being honoured. The cenotaph had names engraved, but no one knew who they were, when and where they were born, where they worked and played before going off to war. So, I started a website to find out more about these names as real people. There’s a link, if you’re interested, at the bottom of this tale.
After starting with the names etched on the cenotaph, I started walking up and down the rows of nearby cemeteries, looking for more names. If you know the symbols, there are dozens in almost every cemetery, except small family plots at rural crossroads, or some denominational church cemeteries.
I noticed that older, larger cemeteries sometimes had relatively large areas, in the oldest section, where there were no memorial stones spread out. The cemetery supervisor in the Strathroy Cemetery told me that the line of broken memorial stones cemented together had been restored from their previous spot on the floor of a pig barn.
It seemed the ‘Cemetery Board’ was one guy, who was tired of maintaining a ‘closed’ cemetery, so he ‘closed’ the cemetery by removing the markers. He put the headstones on the floor of his pig barn and expanded his cultivated land by a little bit. The Strathroy supervisor had no idea if any remains were identified or if any were relocated or matched to a specific plot in the present cemetery.
Another unmarked space is often where babies who did not survive the birth process were placed. Very few with a name, just a stone identifying them as babies. At a time in our history, childbirth was even more problematic than it is now – for both mother and baby.
Walking up and down the rows of markers led me to ponder my predecessors. I knew my father and paternal grandfather. My dad, Charles Murray Wolfe, 1920, was born and is buried in Dashwood. My paternal grandfather is buried in Dashwood and was a barber all his career in Dashwood. But it took a search through Ancestry to find anything more.
My grandfather Wesley, a.k.a. Tupper, Wolfe, 1887-1954, was born in Crediton. He was number 7 of 9 children born to his mother before she died in childbirth. His father, my great-grandfather, Charles Wolf, 1851-1927, remarried and had 3 more children after that.
Charles was born and died in Crediton. My great, great grandfather, Heinrich Wolff, 1806 – 1884, died and is buried in Crediton, but was born in Darmstadt Germany and immigrated with his wife and one child to Huron County.
I drove to Crediton to walk the rows to find my predecessors. I found my great, great grandfather’s unusual metal marker. His name’s spelling, Wolff, was changed to Wolf, and by the time it was my grandfather’s turn it had become Wolfe.
I inquired of the cemetery caretaker why the marker was tilted so badly that it appeared ready to topple, and why the area around the marker was so sunken. She replied that there was no money to improve markers that had not yet toppled, and the ground was sunken because the caskets in the plot had caved in over the years. I asked how many family members were in the plot. She said it was full. It had 8 burials in the Wolff / Wolf plot. I asked who they were and which one was buried where in the plot. She said the paper records had been lost in a fire many years ago (a common story for cemeteries that have been around a long time), but there were 8 there. The only one we knew for sure was my great, great grandfather, Heinrich, who had died and been buried in 1884, but the itinerant marker salesman did not come back around until the next year and the year 1885 was the date the marker was placed, not his death date.
Like a lot of things we’ll never know for sure, that left me guessing. I’m guessing it was his son Charles, my great-grandfather, who paid for the marker. Charles was most able to pay for a marker. He was a hostler with teams of horses, ran a wagon transportation business delivering bulk goods, milk and mail, as well as a farmer, Likely the first burial spot was for Heinrich, his father. I’m guessing the next one was for Elizabeth Haist, his first wife. A third is probably Charles. After that, it is anyone’s guess. Eight burials, one named marker.
Standing there, beside the marker, looking at the sunken land where 7 unknowns are buried reminds me of the children’s game.
“Knock, knock!”
“Who’s there?”
Silence.
NOTE: This Bacon Scrapins tale is true.
You may send appropriate email comments to the writer at thisiswilmot@gmail.com
https://thisiswilmot.ca/?page_id=4090
