The Libby family name got lost in my line when William Pitt’s, sixth child, my great grandmother Laura Elizabeth Libby married Henry Lane in 1871. My grandmother Bertha was their sixth child born in 1891. This part of the story may be of scant interest to anyone outside the immediate family, but it needs to be told nevertheless.
I grew up four kilometers from Compton Quebec in the village of Waterville. Dr. Benjamin Libby bequethed his homestead to his youngest son, William Pitt who is my great great grandfather. When Laura Elizabeth married Henry Lane they purchased a farm in Waterville, my home town.Bertha had two sisters ( Blanche who lived to be 103 and Pearl who lived almost as long ) and three brothers ( Delanson who died at the Somme in 1916, Irvin and Marsellas who lived in the original homestead ). I used to visit them all when I was on my bike riding around the district. Uncle Mac was a character. They seemed ancient to me and I mainly remember they all had loud, wicked laughter. Uncle Mac had a huge goiter as did my mother. I used to admire the massive scar she had that went pretty much ear to ear. Bertha lived to be ninety seven.
She married William McCann in 1910. They lived on the Lane family block. In Waterville. Two children arrived in quick order: my mother Laura Thelma in 1912 and Blakeley in 1915.
Tragedy struck the family in 1917 when grandfather William died from a massive heart attack. The dreams and aspirations of this young couple were dashed in an instant. The farm was sold and Bertha, with two young children in tow forged an unexpected and unwanted new life. She entered a life of servitude ( no pensions for widows in those days ) firstly as a cook in a private boys school ( Feller Institute ) Part of the deal was that Blake could study there at no cost. She worked there for 15 years and left only because Blake got expelled. My mother Laura was by then attending a business college in Sherbrooke.
Bertha found other positions. She married a Mr. Gilson, however he died soon after. We know very little about him, however she said he was a fine man who treated her well. She took a position with a bachelor, Winfred St. Dizier, in the tiny town of Massawippi, Win had a huge house on the main road. I spent several summers there as a kid and made friends with other locals. Win had a ‘ baby Austin ‘ and every Sunday they arrived to take us to see one of the relatives. The Austin was subsequently bought by my brother-in-law Bill Clarke when Win died in 1960. Bertha came to live with us. A necessity for her, an outlet of support for mother, a pain in the ass for dad and as for me , I was largely indifferent. I was off on my egocentric voyage through teenagehood and was pretty oblivious to what was going on around me. Bertha cooked, baked and taught us how to make butter and ice cream. To this day I am addicted to both. My sister Sheila was by then at Teachers College and engaged to Bill Clarke who was studying engineering at McGill University in Montreal. They were married in 1962 and Heather was born in September 1963. Three months later dad died of a heart attack and my life totally changed.
Within six weeks our house was vacated and mother and grandmother moved to Simcoe Ontario where Blake set them up in a home. Mother went to work for him in his electrical business. She was 49 years old. She hadn’t worked since she married dad in 1937. Blake saved their lives.
I was living in residence at Bishop’s by then having broken my leg in a skiing accident in early January 1964. From then onward I felt pretty much an onlooker with my family. I had no role.I was 18. Sheila was living in northern Quebec, mother and grandmother were a thousand kilometers away, my father was dead and I felt abandoned. Around the time when boys leave home, for me it was a reversal. Home left me.
I was 13 when Sheila left home. We didn’t know each other all that well. Sheila and Bill ( from Lennoxville ) were a high school romance that lasted nearly 70 years. Sadly Sheila passed away as I am writing this section of my family story. She and Bill were raising their family while I was wandering the world trying to find myself. Stephanie and I began travelling to North America in the 1970’s and I got to know my sister and my nieces and nephew. I began to reconnect with my family which is not too easy from a half a world away. I have travelled to Canada fourteen times since settling in New Zealand in 1967. ZOOM and SKYPE have helped and I have tried to keep in touch and be a bit relevant. One of the driving reasons for writing this narrative is so my family will have some knowledge of me and the history of our family going back nearly 450 years. One of the ironies of life is that I look like a Libby, but feel like a Robinson whereas Sheila looks like a Robinson but feels and acts like a Libby.
A great sadness for me and all members of the family is the way Alzheimer's disease has been present for both my mother Laura and my sister Sheila. The last 15 years of both their lives have been compromised by this disease and in my humble opinion has robbed them of an authentic old age. It has robbed their children and grandchildren of really knowing what wonderful women they both were. Women who were both very much in the Libby tradition. The name is now lost to our branch of this massive family, however the children and grandchildren will nevertheless carry the legacy and the tradition.
I grew up four kilometers from Compton Quebec in the village of Waterville. Dr. Benjamin Libby bequethed his homestead to his youngest son, William Pitt who is my great great grandfather. When Laura Elizabeth married Henry Lane they purchased a farm in Waterville, my home town.Bertha had two sisters ( Blanche who lived to be 103 and Pearl who lived almost as long ) and three brothers ( Delanson who died at the Somme in 1916, Irvin and Marsellas who lived in the original homestead ). I used to visit them all when I was on my bike riding around the district. Uncle Mac was a character. They seemed ancient to me and I mainly remember they all had loud, wicked laughter. Uncle Mac had a huge goiter as did my mother. I used to admire the massive scar she had that went pretty much ear to ear. Bertha lived to be ninety seven.
She married William McCann in 1910. They lived on the Lane family block. In Waterville. Two children arrived in quick order: my mother Laura Thelma in 1912 and Blakeley in 1915.
Tragedy struck the family in 1917 when grandfather William died from a massive heart attack. The dreams and aspirations of this young couple were dashed in an instant. The farm was sold and Bertha, with two young children in tow forged an unexpected and unwanted new life. She entered a life of servitude ( no pensions for widows in those days ) firstly as a cook in a private boys school ( Feller Institute ) Part of the deal was that Blake could study there at no cost. She worked there for 15 years and left only because Blake got expelled. My mother Laura was by then attending a business college in Sherbrooke.
Bertha found other positions. She married a Mr. Gilson, however he died soon after. We know very little about him, however she said he was a fine man who treated her well. She took a position with a bachelor, Winfred St. Dizier, in the tiny town of Massawippi, Win had a huge house on the main road. I spent several summers there as a kid and made friends with other locals. Win had a ‘ baby Austin ‘ and every Sunday they arrived to take us to see one of the relatives. The Austin was subsequently bought by my brother-in-law Bill Clarke when Win died in 1960. Bertha came to live with us. A necessity for her, an outlet of support for mother, a pain in the ass for dad and as for me , I was largely indifferent. I was off on my egocentric voyage through teenagehood and was pretty oblivious to what was going on around me. Bertha cooked, baked and taught us how to make butter and ice cream. To this day I am addicted to both. My sister Sheila was by then at Teachers College and engaged to Bill Clarke who was studying engineering at McGill University in Montreal. They were married in 1962 and Heather was born in September 1963. Three months later dad died of a heart attack and my life totally changed.
Within six weeks our house was vacated and mother and grandmother moved to Simcoe Ontario where Blake set them up in a home. Mother went to work for him in his electrical business. She was 49 years old. She hadn’t worked since she married dad in 1937. Blake saved their lives.
I was living in residence at Bishop’s by then having broken my leg in a skiing accident in early January 1964. From then onward I felt pretty much an onlooker with my family. I had no role.I was 18. Sheila was living in northern Quebec, mother and grandmother were a thousand kilometers away, my father was dead and I felt abandoned. Around the time when boys leave home, for me it was a reversal. Home left me.
I was 13 when Sheila left home. We didn’t know each other all that well. Sheila and Bill ( from Lennoxville ) were a high school romance that lasted nearly 70 years. Sadly Sheila passed away as I am writing this section of my family story. She and Bill were raising their family while I was wandering the world trying to find myself. Stephanie and I began travelling to North America in the 1970’s and I got to know my sister and my nieces and nephew. I began to reconnect with my family which is not too easy from a half a world away. I have travelled to Canada fourteen times since settling in New Zealand in 1967. ZOOM and SKYPE have helped and I have tried to keep in touch and be a bit relevant. One of the driving reasons for writing this narrative is so my family will have some knowledge of me and the history of our family going back nearly 450 years. One of the ironies of life is that I look like a Libby, but feel like a Robinson whereas Sheila looks like a Robinson but feels and acts like a Libby.
A great sadness for me and all members of the family is the way Alzheimer's disease has been present for both my mother Laura and my sister Sheila. The last 15 years of both their lives have been compromised by this disease and in my humble opinion has robbed them of an authentic old age. It has robbed their children and grandchildren of really knowing what wonderful women they both were. Women who were both very much in the Libby tradition. The name is now lost to our branch of this massive family, however the children and grandchildren will nevertheless carry the legacy and the tradition.
Robinson Line