Amanuensis Monday - Grandma Hill's Poetry, Week 50

This is the last of the poems that have been transcribed.  It is fitting that this week's poem is about her son Victor Hill who was born on August 19, 1897. This is one of the few poems that I can date, but it clearly was written on August 19, 1945.

His Birthday

August 19: Forty eight years ago today he was born

And forty eight years ago tonight, the tiny form 

Lay safe in my proud protecting arm

'Twas my job, through shine and storm

To keep him safe from any harm.

Of the three, it seemed, he was my choice

And I was always cheered to hear his laughing voice

He was always happy, lively, helpful and gay

So passed sixteen years of his youth away.

Then work took him from our home away

For more than a year, I thought "not gone to stay"

When I heard the sad news he was on a foreign shore

The thought came to me "I'll never see him more".

He had gone to help our neighbor country in her dire need

Never thinking of the sacrifice to be exacted for the deed.

He gave his young life to make this world a better place

And I've ever thought 'twas his wish, I should keep a smiling face.

No one knows the sorrow, only another mother so bereft

Nor how this sorrow makes us cling to those who are left.

We can only be thankful to be near them day by day

'Till life is done and our sorrow is ended forever and aye.

Nancy Jane Wiley Hill (1875-1960) was always writing something.  Many of those poems are now in the possession of her granddaughter Shirley Kern.  Shirley, with the help of her sister-in-law Ruth Ormsby, transcribed these poems in 1996 for a Hill-Ormsby-Kern family reunion.  I am going to post many of these poems so that they may be enjoyed by all.

These are copyright 1996 and reprinted with permission.

Amanuensis Monday - Grandma Hill's Poetry, Week 49

The White Cross

Yes, he is gone, his name is written there

In jet-black letters, staring from the white.

And yet, because I yield not to despair, You look

askance, and think my grief is slight.

I felt the greatest depths of mortal pain

The day I know, from Canada he'd sailed away.

Surely, such anguish could not come again; And

life, in any human heart, holds sway.

All that was mortal of that boy of mine

Now lies afar beneath the war scarred earth.

But that which gave him life, the spark divine,

His spirit, was set free, a second birth.

And when often I give up and think can't go on,

'tis useless to try.

It seems I can feel him near me saying,

"Please mother, don't cry."

And so, I go my way, with proud head high,

Knowing full well that he's all mine once more,

A close companionship that can not die, Sweeter

than any we'd ever known before.

He gave his beautiful young life away, that others,

in this torn world might be free

His soul died not, and it belongs today, To no one

else, but just his God and me.

Nancy Jane Wiley Hill (1875-1960) was always writing something.  Many of those poems are now in the possession of her granddaughter Shirley Kern.  Shirley, with the help of her sister-in-law Ruth Ormsby, transcribed these poems in 1996 for a Hill-Ormsby-Kern family reunion.  I am going to post many of these poems so that they may be enjoyed by all.

These are copyright 1996 and reprinted with permission.

Amanuensis Monday - Grandma Hill's Poetry, Week 48

I dream not of that lonely grave in France

Wherein your battle wearied frame finds rest.

I know you found the sweetness of God's glance

The day he called your brave soul West.

I cannot think your race is wholly run

Tho' dark as night, the intervening veils

Somewhere beyond the setting sun,

Your valiant barque still sails.

I cannot look into your pictured face

And think of you as lying still and cold.

Rather, I see you wiser grown in grace,

Courageous as of old.

I think of you, as in some other sphere

Rounding your talents in some task divine,

Loving the ones you left behind you here,

Ever growing, through love more fine.

Just as you are, with loyal heart, and true

Waiting my coming, tho' the years seem slow,

Praying for our eternal rendezvous,

Nearer than we may know.

Nancy Jane Wiley Hill (1875-1960) was always writing something.  Many of those poems are now in the possession of her granddaughter Shirley Kern.  Shirley, with the help of her sister-in-law Ruth Ormsby, transcribed these poems in 1996 for a Hill-Ormsby-Kern family reunion.  I am going to post many of these poems so that they may be enjoyed by all.

These are copyright 1996 and reprinted with permission.

Amanuensis Monday - Grandma Hill's Poetry, Week 47

A common theme in Grandma's poems are the loss of her son Victor Hill.  He was killed in the battle of Hill 70 near Lens, France on 15 August 1917, and lies buried in the Maroc British Cemetery near there.  This poem and the next few describe her grief.

A Grave in France

For just once, glance -

Dear Lord, I pray, upon that

Far off lonely grave

Somewhere in France.

His life he gave - 

Unreconciled my lonely soul

That this should be -

A lonely grave.

Unanswered prayer -

With eyes of faith,

That far off grave I see, and lo, -

The Lord is there.

No more alone -

Through shrieking shell and

Poisoned flame, the Master sought -

And found his own.

Nancy Jane Wiley Hill (1875-1960) was always writing something.  Many of those poems are now in the possession of her granddaughter Shirley Kern.  Shirley, with the help of her sister-in-law Ruth Ormsby, transcribed these poems in 1996 for a Hill-Ormsby-Kern family reunion.  I am going to post many of these poems so that they may be enjoyed by all.

These are copyright 1996 and reprinted with permission.

Amanuensis Monday - Grandma Hill's Poetry, Week 46

Return of the Boys of '18

The fine returning hosts go by,

The bugles of the morning play

Their serenades into the sky.

The taut drums beat the reveille -

But oh, through moments packed and dim

I stand apart, with downcast air,

And only see through sorrow grim

The figure of my boy, who is not there.

Bright banners deck the laughing streets, 

And throngs on crowded sidewalks wait.

The day is fie, the air is sweet.

As the hosts march by, so tall and straight.

But with them, I see moving all the while,

A dim shadow that will never come

With that sweet accustomed manly smile,

To the summons of the sounding drum.

And this is all that I can see -

His mother apart, on the throng's bright rim.

But oh! how much I'd give

If only I could go out there to him.

Could kneel for one moment by that cross

Amid the poppies where he lies

So close to Flanders mud and moss

With God's sweet slumber on his eyes.

The pomp and splendor of  the day,

The glory of the great parade.

Shall come and go and pass away,

Shall from the moment's memory fade.

But not the picture of the pale

The frequent phantom everywhere.

The ghost of Loose's hill and vale

The ghost of my boy who was not there.

Nancy Jane Wiley Hill (1875-1960) was always writing something.  Many of those poems are now in the possession of her granddaughter Shirley Kern.  Shirley, with the help of her sister-in-law Ruth Ormsby, transcribed these poems in 1996 for a Hill-Ormsby-Kern family reunion.  I am going to post many of these poems so that they may be enjoyed by all.

These are copyright 1996 and reprinted with permission.

Amanuensis Monday - Grandma Hill's Poetry, week 28

Dear Betty and Charles:

I am so very glad that the proud stork delivered your male so safe and sound

Precious things come in small parcels, he must be very precious to weigh a wee six pound.

I hope the proud Mom and Pop will cherish him and care for him with the greatest skill

For you know his is my first great-grandson by the name of Hill.

 

Note:  this poem is dated March 20, 1950.  Charles Victor Hill (1924-52) was her grandson (the first with the surname Hill) - he and his wife Betty had their first child James on March 21, 1950.  Perhaps Grandma had her days mixed up?

Nancy Jane Wiley Hill (1875-1960) was always writing something.  Many of those poems are now in the possession of her granddaughter Shirley Kern.  Shirley, with the help of her sister-in-law Ruth Ormsby, transcribed these poems in 1996 for a Hill-Ormsby-Kern family reunion.  I am going to post many of these poems so that they may be enjoyed by all.

These are copyright 1996 and reprinted with permission.

Amanuensis Monday - Grandma Hill's Poetry, week 27

The duck is a low, heavy set bird, composed mostly of

meat, and feathers.  He is a mighty poor singer,

having a hoarse voice, caused by getting too many

frogs in his throat.

He likes the water, and carries a toy balloon in his

stomach to keep him from sinking.

The duck has only two legs, and they are set so far

back on his running gears, by nature, that she came

pretty near missing his body.

Some ducks, when they get big, have curls in their tails

and are called drakes.  Drakes don't have to set or

hatch, but just loaf, go swimming, and eat.

If I was a duck, I'd rather be a drake anytime.

Nancy Jane Wiley Hill (1875-1960) was always writing something.  Many of those poems are now in the possession of her granddaughter Shirley Kern.  Shirley, with the help of her sister-in-law Ruth Ormsby, transcribed these poems in 1996 for a Hill-Ormsby-Kern family reunion.  I am going to post many of these poems so that they may be enjoyed by all.

These are copyright 1996 and reprinted with permission.

Amanuensis Monday - Grandma Hill's Poetry, week 26

MARCH

 Now that March has come we can heave a sigh of relief

Knowing that old King Winter's remaining stay must be brief

that soon now each tiny shoot, bulb, and seed will be

sending up their carpeting of green

Making of the drab, barren earth a more beautiful,

enlivening scene.

Soon the young lambs, calves, pigs, and colts will be

rollicking on the hill

And the restful babbling of the water can be heard

in the unfettered rill.

Soon the children, freed from school, will be out with

a shout and a roar

Ready with some kind of plaything on wheels to ride,

skate, glide or soar.

Soon the birds can be seen carrying straws to build

their cozy little nest

And then moss and feathers to make warm the place

where the eggs rest.

In the country, the farmer with his implements of toil

will be up at the break of dawn

And in the city we'll hear the music of the mower

on the lawn.

Nancy Jane Wiley Hill (1875-1960) was always writing something.  Many of those poems are now in the possession of her granddaughter Shirley Kern.  Shirley, with the help of her sister-in-law Ruth Ormsby, transcribed these poems in 1996 for a Hill-Ormsby-Kern family reunion.  I am going to post many of these poems so that they may be enjoyed by all.

These are copyright 1996 and reprinted with permission.

Amanuensis Monday - Grandma Hill's Poetry, week 25

THE EARTH AND THE ROCK

Gathering sea slides up round rock,

Gashes earth bank, defeated, lost.  Lock

Of earth is launched to sea,

Elemental symphony.

Offspring of earth explores

Helpless until new shores;

Clutches top of rock to wait

'Til new wave decides new fate.

Coasters of sea continue,

Characterizing rock sinew,

Rising sea's great mouth, with shock,

Swallows earth and rock.

After tide fall, rock will stand,

Earth needs to find rock again.

Nancy Jane Wiley Hill (1875-1960) was always writing something.  Many of those poems are now in the possession of her granddaughter Shirley Kern.  Shirley, with the help of her sister-in-law Ruth Ormsby, transcribed these poems in 1996 for a Hill-Ormsby-Kern family reunion.  I am going to post many of these poems so that they may be enjoyed by all.

These are copyright 1996 and reprinted with permission.

Amanuensis Monday - Grandma Hill's Poetry, week 24

THE SEA

Anger at rock barriers ordeals energies,

Exhausted, lies prone, placid,

Rests in the sun,

Fertilizes egg clouds.

Playfully washes the dwellers,

Sense of humor with guests

Supports them, enjoys their shock,

Sometimes destroys, not knowing own strength.

Appetite satisfied by feelers,

Offering sacrifice; tribute to master,

A sometime friend to man,

Aloof companion to land.

Powerful, strange, deep,

Sensitive, complex sea.

Nancy Jane Wiley Hill (1875-1960) was always writing something.  Many of those poems are now in the possession of her granddaughter Shirley Kern.  Shirley, with the help of her sister-in-law Ruth Ormsby, transcribed these poems in 1996 for a Hill-Ormsby-Kern family reunion.  I am going to post many of these poems so that they may be enjoyed by all.

These are copyright 1996 and reprinted with permission.

Amanuensis Monday - Grandma Hill's Poetry, week 23

To the Ormsbys, Victor, Myrtle and little George Ed.

You ask if I still write verse, 'tis enough said.

The winter's been so cold and we've had so much snow.

I seldom take my pen in hand any mo'.

I changed my furnace to oil and quit the dirty coal.

So I nearly froze to death in this drafty old hole.

The oil burned so fast, my money seemed to fly away.

Just count it yourself, I used 10 or 11 gallons a day.

As each gallon burned away, went thirteen and a half cents.

And besides that my gas bills come in dollars, and not pence.

But enough grumbling, we've all got along just swell.

And I'm glad we're all coming through, happy, saucy and well.

With my house, my roomers and my boarders, my days are quite full.

Days when I'm lazy, it seems to be a long, hard pull.

But I just keep moving and doing here a little bit and there a little bit.

And finally get it done in good time, then I quit.

The snows came and the ice froze up so hard

that since Xmas I've not been out of the yard.

On Sat. Don gets my groceries and meat to last all week.

My milk's delivered and Don goes to the store, the bread to seek.

Evenings I listen to the radio and I sit and crochet.

If I get blue, I play "Sol" to drive my troubles away.

I don't seem to care for shows, skating, dancing, not even men

So when I get ready for bed, I don't have to ask anyone where or when.

I hope this finds you all just spinning along at top speed

With plenty of everything, and doing each day some useful deed.

You say May is getting better, but recovery seems slow.

We all hope that very soon she'll be up, busy, happy and on the go.

Jessie and Don told me much about little George Ed

Just kiss him for me on his little red curly head.

Victor and Myrtle just give a big kiss to each other

And play like that it came from your gray haired grandmother.

 

Note: This poem refers to Grandma Hill's daughter Jessie Hill Ormsby Kern (1895-1963), her sons Donald and Charles Victor Ormsby.  Charles Victor was always called Vic or Victor - his wife was Myrtle and their oldest son was George Edward.  Jessie and Don lived near her in Toledo, OH.  Vic and his family lived near Casey, IL.  Also mentioned is Lelia Mae Ormsby Baker ("May") who was Jessie's first husband's sister.  This was written sometime between 1945 when George was born, and 1954 when Mae died.  Most likely it was written before 1949 when Vic and Myrtle had their second son Charles, since he is not mentioned.

Grandma Hill used to rent rooms in her house to boarders.

Note the price of heating oil - 13-1/2 cents per gallon! 

Nancy Jane Wiley Hill (1875-1960) was always writing something.  Many of those poems are now in the possession of her granddaughter Shirley Kern.  Shirley, with the help of her sister-in-law Ruth Ormsby, transcribed these poems in 1996 for a Hill-Ormsby-Kern family reunion.  I am going to post many of these poems so that they may be enjoyed by all.

These are copyright 1996 and reprinted with permission.

Amanuensis Monday - Grandma Hill's Poetry, week 22

Two little boys, whose last name was Hill,

had taken many and many a pill.

'Till along came Doctor Diethelm with tweezers and knives

And assured them he'd come to save their lives.

He stood looking wise, with hand in his pocket

And said "Well, boys, what's the first thing on docket?"

After thumping and sounding I find Science has proved

The very wisest thing is to have adenoids and tonsils removed.

And now, as we are done with our whittles

Next thing,  we will see to your vittles.

And after reading the menu through,

We'll see what cod liver oil will do.

This with milk, eggs, little meat and much spinach

Some spuds, tomatoes and beans just fill out our menage"

So with Mother, Anna, and Nurse Parker to talk and cajole

The little boys followed the good Doctor's role.

And have grown fat, hale and strong, but some lazy

'Till now they nearly drive their Dad nutty and crazy.

Note:   Although I'm not exactly sure who this poem was written to, it was probably 2 of her grandsons.  Grandma Hill had 4 Hill grandsons - they were Charles Victor Hill (1924-52), Edwin James "Wimp" Hill (1928- ), Lawrence Gerald Hill (1935-2013), and Donald Eugene Hill (1940 -  ).  They all grew up in Toledo, OH, where three generations of Dr. Diethelm's practiced as Family doctors.  Her Hill great-grandsons were either two young, or not in Toledo.   I have asked several older family members, and none knows who Anna was.  She was not the mother of any of these boys.

Nancy Jane Wiley Hill (1875-1960) was always writing something.  Many of those poems are now in the possession of her granddaughter Shirley Kern.  Shirley, with the help of her sister-in-law Ruth Ormsby, transcribed these poems in 1996 for a Hill-Ormsby-Kern family reunion.  I am going to post many of these poems so that they may be enjoyed by all.

These are copyright 1996 and reprinted with permission.

Amanuensis Monday - Grandma Hill's Poetry, week 21

There were two little boys, very proud of their goat

For this pet wore a very soft, silky, white coat.

They hitched her to their wagon, she went down the hill

And the two little boys, from their wagon, got a bad spill.

The two little boys got up, brushing off the dirt.

Says Bob, to Dick, "Brother, are you very much hurt?"

"No", says Dick, "to hurt me, nothing has a chance

For you know, I'm wearing a pair of Dad's old pants."

Note:  These two little boys are grandsons Robert Leroy Kern (1926-1990 and James Richard "Dick" Kern (1929-2011)

I couldn't find a picture of Bob and Dick with the goat, but this photo from 1924 shows their 3 oldest siblings, Wilma Kern, Donald Ormsby and Charles "Victor" Ormsby

Nancy Jane Wiley Hill (1875-1960) was always writing something.  Many of those poems are now in the possession of her granddaughter Shirley Kern.  Shirley, with the help of her sister-in-law Ruth Ormsby, transcribed these poems in 1996 for a Hill-Ormsby-Kern family reunion.  I am going to post many of these poems so that they may be enjoyed by all.

These are copyright 1996 and reprinted with permission.

Amanuensis Monday - Grandma Hill's Poetry, week 20

There is a very cute little boy named Larry

Sometimes he is good, sometimes raises old Harry.

Then his grandmother begins to fume and to fret

And finally paddles that on which he is supposed to sit.

Then he storms, raves, threatens, and shakes his fist

So she has to punish him by a slap on the wrist.

But when he is shown the dark closet door

He says he will be good, not do it any more.

He plays with Pearl, Charkie, Dobbin and Nigger Joe.

But carries old Sumantha Ann where'r he will go.

He gets his wagon, firetruck and together his train he'll splice.

While Gumbo, Neddy and Bobcat sit up and look nice.

With his bag of blocks he builds many, many things

Castles, cottages, hoosegows and railroads in log strings.

Where his kin folks lie, he'll tell you the name of the place

And rattle off big words without even making a face.

The roomers all love him, think things he does are funny.

When they pay me, he tells the names of the faces on money.

He does the duck waddle, turns flip flops and does drop four

He reads Mother Goose, does many smart things more.

When outdoors, he plays with Sally who lives next door,

Goes with me when I go for groceries at the store.

Has his wagon, mess of junk, Charley horse or engine to ride

Sometimes plays with Stanley who lives on the other side.

All in all, his grandmother thinks he's a smart lad.

Note:  This is about her great-grandson Larry Ormsby.  This was written sometime in the late 1940's when Larry was between 3-7 years old.  Grandma Hill ran a boarding house with "roomers".  Most of the names in this poem refer to his toys, but Sally and Stanley were neighborhood kids.

Nancy Jane Wiley Hill (1875-1960) was always writing something.  Many of those poems are now in the possession of her granddaughter Shirley Kern.  Shirley, with the help of her sister-in-law Ruth Ormsby, transcribed these poems in 1996 for a Hill-Ormsby-Kern family reunion.  I am going to post many of these poems so that they may be enjoyed by all.

These are copyright 1996 and reprinted with permission.

Amanuensis Monday - Grandma Hill's Poetry, week 19

George Edward Ormsby, you cute little dear

I wish it was so you could live near.

So I could cuddle, and maybe spoil you a bit

And paddle your little butty, when I saw fit.

I hope you grow up healthy, happy and strong

And nothing for you ever, ever goes wrong.

When you grow up to be a big manly man

I hope you'll make mama and papa as happy as you can.

George Edward Ormsby with his father Charles Victor Ormsby in February 1950. 

Note:  This poem was written to her first great-grandson, born in 1945.  He was born in Cumberland Co., IL, while she was living in Toledo, OH.

Nancy Jane Wiley Hill (1875-1960) was always writing something.  Many of those poems are now in the possession of her granddaughter Shirley Kern.  Shirley, with the help of her sister-in-law Ruth Ormsby, transcribed these poems in 1996 for a Hill-Ormsby-Kern family reunion.  I am going to post many of these poems so that they may be enjoyed by all.

These are copyright 1996 and reprinted with permission.

Amanuensis Monday - Grandma Hill's Poetry, week 18

WINTER

 'Tis winter here, and the trees are bare and stark,

Folks hurry home, ere comes the early dark,

The leaves have fallen to cover the flowers

That will come again with the April showers.

They hurry home to rest and enjoy the fire's glow,

For the skies are grey, and soon will come the snow

That will cover each bug and plant, like a warm hood,

And so, what makes one siver is for another's good.

So we must learn to live, and with life be content

To use each day so we can count if well spent,

For it was only loaned us, not to fritter away,

But gladden each other, while here we like to stay.

Nancy Jane Wiley Hill (1875-1960) was always writing something.  Many of those poems are now in the possession of her granddaughter Shirley Kern.  Shirley, with the help of her sister-in-law Ruth Ormsby, transcribed these poems in 1996 for a Hill-Ormsby-Kern family reunion.  I am going to post many of these poems so that they may be enjoyed by all.

These are copyright 1996 and reprinted with permission.

Amanuensis Monday - Grandma Hill's Poetry, week 17

Here's to the measure of every man's worth

Though when men are wanting, it grieves us

Hearts that are hollow,m we're better without

Hearts that are loyal, it leaves us.

Nancy Jane Wiley Hill (1875-1960) was always writing something.  Many of those poems are now in the possession of her granddaughter Shirley Kern.  Shirley, with the help of her sister-in-law Ruth Ormsby, transcribed these poems in 1996 for a Hill-Ormsby-Kern family reunion.  I am going to post many of these poems so that they may be enjoyed by all.

These are copyright 1996 and reprinted with permission.

Amanuensis Monday - Grandma Hill's Poetry, week 16

XMAS

 Blue-tinted snow,

Green of the tree,

Red green holly,

And you and me.

Nancy Jane Wiley Hill (1875-1960) was always writing something.  Many of those poems are now in the possession of her granddaughter Shirley Kern.  Shirley, with the help of her sister-in-law Ruth Ormsby, transcribed these poems in 1996 for a Hill-Ormsby-Kern family reunion.  I am going to post many of these poems so that they may be enjoyed by all.

These are copyright 1996 and reprinted with permission.

Amanuensis Monday - Grandma Hill's Poetry, week 15

Trouble is the dowry of every man's birth

A nettle adversity flings us.

It yields to the grip of the masterful hand.

When we play around, it stings us.

 

 

Nancy Jane Wiley Hill (1875-1960) was always writing something.  Many of those poems are now in the possession of her granddaughter Shirley Kern.  Shirley, with the help of her sister-in-law Ruth Ormsby, transcribed these poems in 1996 for a Hill-Ormsby-Kern family reunion.  I am going to post many of these poems so that they may be enjoyed by all.

These are copyright 1996 and reprinted with permission.

Amanuensis Monday - Grandma Hill's Poetry, Week 14

Young men walk on trouble's brink

Doing things before they think

Old men like to sit and whittle

Thinking much, but doing little.

Nancy Jane Wiley Hill (1875-1960) was always writing something.  Many of those poems are now in the possession of her granddaughter Shirley Kern.  Shirley, with the help of her sister-in-law Ruth Ormsby, transcribed these poems in 1996 for a Hill-Ormsby-Kern family reunion.  I am going to post many of these poems so that they may be enjoyed by all.

These are copyright 1996 and reprinted with permission.