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My grandmother Bennett had a house in Chesham not too far from Uncle
John's and it was called "Berry Bennett." The old house had been
neglected for many years and had fallen into a state of disrepair when,
one summer, Aunt Katherine decided to restore it. An Englishman happened
to be visiting while the carpenters were at work and she took him over
to see the place. As the house came into view he suddenly exclaimed,
"Why — this reminds me so much of a little hamlet in England — and,
coincidently its name is "Bury Bennett." This of course appealed to Aunt
Katherine's Anglomania and the name stuck, phonet- ically at least.
When I was very young I used to spend a week or two in the summer at the
unrestored "Berry Bennett", and my mother, Mary, our nurse Jenny, and I
would drive the sixty odd miles from Weston in a carriage and pair. We
always went in the 'mountain wagon' because it had brakes to take the
strain off the horses while going down steep hills. The trip took two
days and we spent the intervening night at Groton or Townsend,
Massachusetts. Those were long days, either dry and dusty or cold and
wet, with no protection against the elements except the clothes we wore, and we usually arrived in Chesham in poor spirits. On one such occasion
I found some wild strawberries in the pasture and ate far too many of
them. They disagreed with my tired stomach and that night I had an
unforgettable nightmare — a giant cat sitting on the window sill peering
in at me. I can still see that cat sitting there, and I'm still not
overly fond of strawberries.
AUNT CELIN
Aunt Celin never married and was often available to baby sit |
