Frederic Feedham
My Dad
By: Eleanor May Feedham-Bartlett-Haas
Dad was born March 4, 1875 approx. He lived to be 83 years old. A long and honorable life.
My Dad (Frederic Feedham) was born in a sea side village south east of London, England. The town was called Clacton By The Sea. He came to America when he was about five years old. He was accompanied by his Mother, Lucinda Feedham, an older brother, Harry, and two older sisters, Alice and Florence. His father and older brother Will came over before them. Their ship docked at a port in Canada. The family later came to the USA.
My Dad told me he could remember two things about the trip besides it was a long time getting to America. He said the sailors made small wooden boats with long strings tied to them that the boys could put over the side of the boat and watch them bob in the water. The other incident was when they were nearing port a big storm came up and blew them back out to sea and all the women were crying because they thought they were going to drown. They must have come in a sailing ship.
My Dad was a good father. He was a carpenter by trade but worked his twenty five acre farm to provide a living for his wife and children. In the winter time he used to pull a sled up the big hill back of our farm and then belly flop on and one or two of us kids would pile on his back for the wonderful ride down the hill. He was a good ice skater. He could skate backwards as fast as most people could skate
forwards. Our road iced over in the winter and made a wonderful skating pond. One time my Dad made a harness for a goat we had. The goat was then harnessed to a small wagon that two of us kids could ride in at once. It was fun but the goat went where it wanted to not where we tried to steer it.
I can remember helping Dad bring in the hay for the winter. My job was to help rake the hay into piles so it could be pitched onto the wagon for transport to the barn. Sometimes us kids had the job of
walking on the hay in the barn to tread it down so more could be stored. It was fun but tiresome. When I got old enough I helped weed the garden and pick up potatoes in the fall. That was a back breaking job but it had to be done so we could have them to eat in the winter.
Sometimes my Dad worked for the county cutting weeds with a scythe. They had to clear the roadside and ditches of all weeds. They also had to patch holes in the road. In the winter he stood on the back of a truck to shovel salt onto the roads so traffic could get through. That was a very cold job. I know he wore long wool underwear and wool socks. His outer garments were a flannel shirt, warm pants, warm jacket and gloves plus a warm hat with ear flaps. Sometimes he came home with
icicles on his beard.