Mrs. Porter was a grand old lady of a long ago day,
One of the first to buy a summer home up North Street way,
She had the library built before I was born, I hear,
And left an endowment to keep it for many a year.
I remember each summer I saw her drive through
In her Calash, with her coachmen and matched pair, too.
In my memory I see her as she was years ago
She appeared to be short and quite plump also.
She wore a black dress of silk all trimmed with lace
And a little black cap covered her hair, not her face.
She carried a parasol to keep off the sun
And visited my mother while driving around.
Mrs. Porter was a grand old lady of a long ago day,
One of the first to buy a summer home up North Street way,
She had the library built before I was born, I hear,
And left an endowment to keep it for many a year.
I remember each summer I saw her drive through
In her Calash, with her coachmen and matched pair, too.
In my memory I see her as she was years ago
She appeared to be short and quite plump also.
She wore a black dress of silk all trimmed with lace
And a little black cap covered her hair, not her face.
She carried a parasol to keep off the sun
And visited my mother while driving around.
Every year she would tie up a bundle of clothes
And visit the folks who had need of those.
She knew our large family with children galore
And that Mother made over clothing used once before.
She would leave coats and dresses like new to us still
And for other needs, a ten dollar bill.
Mother once, I remember, made a beautiful dress
And trimmed it with lace; she looked well in this.
There were dresses for the girls and pants for each boy;
Mrs. Porter's clothes were always made over with joy.
One year we missed her; never more would she come,
I assume God Almighty had welcomed her home.
Now I'll go back to the library of Mrs. Porter's fame
She was the one to have it built; it carries her name.
Of course it's a monument to Blandford's men who toil
Made it of bricks and each brick from Blandford's soil;
Taken from the pit of Kaolin which was an industrious scene,
For the Blandford Brick and Tile Company in Russell, it had been.
They once said, so I've heard, of all the clay they found,
There was no other like it taken from the ground,
It was a creamy yellow when they dug it, I recall,
For seeing is believing and I've seen it all.
Father took me there when I was six or so
And I remember how the men were digging down below.
I attended the Second Division School in 1896, I'd say
And remember seeing the many loads that passed by each day,
Carried on special wagons so that the three by fours so stout
Which made up the bottom, could be lifted up and out
By two men to unload them from the center of the cart
And the clay would fall beneath in bins as the floor boards came apart.
I want you to remember as you pass your library there
That the clay of which those bricks were made was dug with care,
From deep down in a pit and loaded into scale boxes by hand;
Then lifted by a derrick when given the command.
The derrick stood outside the hole where the loading was done
Using a steam engine to run cables to raise and lower the boom.
North Blandford's church foundation walls are yellow brick you'll find,
Any many buildings in our state have used this uncommon kind
Perhaps many of the folks who live in Blandford town today
Have never heard about the mine and its cream-colored clay
For the younger generation always look for something new
And are not always interested in what people used to do.
From Stone Walls Magazine, Fall, 1978
One of the first to buy a summer home up North Street way,
She had the library built before I was born, I hear,
And left an endowment to keep it for many a year.
I remember each summer I saw her drive through
In her Calash, with her coachmen and matched pair, too.
In my memory I see her as she was years ago
She appeared to be short and quite plump also.
She wore a black dress of silk all trimmed with lace
And a little black cap covered her hair, not her face.
She carried a parasol to keep off the sun
And visited my mother while driving around.
Mrs. Porter was a grand old lady of a long ago day,
One of the first to buy a summer home up North Street way,
She had the library built before I was born, I hear,
And left an endowment to keep it for many a year.
I remember each summer I saw her drive through
In her Calash, with her coachmen and matched pair, too.
In my memory I see her as she was years ago
She appeared to be short and quite plump also.
She wore a black dress of silk all trimmed with lace
And a little black cap covered her hair, not her face.
She carried a parasol to keep off the sun
And visited my mother while driving around.
Every year she would tie up a bundle of clothes
And visit the folks who had need of those.
She knew our large family with children galore
And that Mother made over clothing used once before.
She would leave coats and dresses like new to us still
And for other needs, a ten dollar bill.
Mother once, I remember, made a beautiful dress
And trimmed it with lace; she looked well in this.
There were dresses for the girls and pants for each boy;
Mrs. Porter's clothes were always made over with joy.
One year we missed her; never more would she come,
I assume God Almighty had welcomed her home.
Now I'll go back to the library of Mrs. Porter's fame
She was the one to have it built; it carries her name.
Of course it's a monument to Blandford's men who toil
Made it of bricks and each brick from Blandford's soil;
Taken from the pit of Kaolin which was an industrious scene,
For the Blandford Brick and Tile Company in Russell, it had been.
They once said, so I've heard, of all the clay they found,
There was no other like it taken from the ground,
It was a creamy yellow when they dug it, I recall,
For seeing is believing and I've seen it all.
Father took me there when I was six or so
And I remember how the men were digging down below.
I attended the Second Division School in 1896, I'd say
And remember seeing the many loads that passed by each day,
Carried on special wagons so that the three by fours so stout
Which made up the bottom, could be lifted up and out
By two men to unload them from the center of the cart
And the clay would fall beneath in bins as the floor boards came apart.
I want you to remember as you pass your library there
That the clay of which those bricks were made was dug with care,
From deep down in a pit and loaded into scale boxes by hand;
Then lifted by a derrick when given the command.
The derrick stood outside the hole where the loading was done
Using a steam engine to run cables to raise and lower the boom.
North Blandford's church foundation walls are yellow brick you'll find,
Any many buildings in our state have used this uncommon kind
Perhaps many of the folks who live in Blandford town today
Have never heard about the mine and its cream-colored clay
For the younger generation always look for something new
And are not always interested in what people used to do.
From Stone Walls Magazine, Fall, 1978