Faith and Courage
When Mary Elizabeth Rolf heard the gospel taught by missionaries from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, she was baptized. Sometime later, her husband Stephen was baptized as well. Stephen was 6 feet 3 inches and was baptized by Brother Keep, a man who was barely five feet tall. Mary and her husband had four children, Harry, Stephen, Richard and Esther Elizabeth.
They were well off in England since Stephen had been employed by the Great Western Railway for twenty years, and they lived comfortably.
In 1866, they sailed to America with a company of saints on the American Congress. By the time they reached the shore, Elizabeth was very ill and passed away. Stephen was pressed to be on his way and had to leave her body in a rudely-made casket on the dock, relying on the mercy of strangers to bury her properly. This troubled him til the end of his life.
Stephen Shingleton was the son of Richard, who was the son of Samuel, who was the son of John, who was the son of John. All of them were born, lived, were married, raised their children and died in Moulsford, Berkshire England, a time period of over 200 years. Population today hovers around 500 give or take a few. The number of people living in this quiet little village has waxed and waned over the many years of its existence.
Except that Stephen broke the mold when he set out for America with his family. His youngest daughter Esther Elizabeth was ten years old. She is my great grandmother. I spent the day wondering why they would leave such a place.
Moulsford England is about 18 miles from Oxford, and that is where we spent our time today. We drove through some beautiful green hilly country, and marveled at the green everywhere on this day in early February. Magnificent old trees, stately old estates and hillsides covered in green and dotted with wooly sheep met our gaze at every turn.
We found the church they were christened in, married in, and most likely attended. It was originally built in the 1200s, but was rebuilt in the mid-1800s on the same foundation. The surrounding cemetery was cool and silent and in some areas very old. The gravestones had once been inscribed, but time has erased anything written, and they sit quietly and in dignity solemnly attesting that someone lies buried below.
The silence was momentarily broken by a man's voice calling out from a distance in rhythmic cadences to a splashing sound. We looked at the river beyond, and there was a rowing crew gliding through the water.
We walked into the chapel and imagined how many of my ancestors worshipped there. Such a deep sense of reverence filled our souls.
We will visit there again, when I have been able to research a little more in depth about what they did here in this sleepy little village.
In the meantime, I will think about Stephen and Mary Elizabeth (who was fragile always it would seem) and the faith that led them to leave the home of their ancestors in a green and verdant part of the world to an unknown desert far away in the west.
They were well off in England since Stephen had been employed by the Great Western Railway for twenty years, and they lived comfortably.
In 1866, they sailed to America with a company of saints on the American Congress. By the time they reached the shore, Elizabeth was very ill and passed away. Stephen was pressed to be on his way and had to leave her body in a rudely-made casket on the dock, relying on the mercy of strangers to bury her properly. This troubled him til the end of his life.
Stephen Shingleton was the son of Richard, who was the son of Samuel, who was the son of John, who was the son of John. All of them were born, lived, were married, raised their children and died in Moulsford, Berkshire England, a time period of over 200 years. Population today hovers around 500 give or take a few. The number of people living in this quiet little village has waxed and waned over the many years of its existence.
Except that Stephen broke the mold when he set out for America with his family. His youngest daughter Esther Elizabeth was ten years old. She is my great grandmother. I spent the day wondering why they would leave such a place.
Moulsford England is about 18 miles from Oxford, and that is where we spent our time today. We drove through some beautiful green hilly country, and marveled at the green everywhere on this day in early February. Magnificent old trees, stately old estates and hillsides covered in green and dotted with wooly sheep met our gaze at every turn.
We found the church they were christened in, married in, and most likely attended. It was originally built in the 1200s, but was rebuilt in the mid-1800s on the same foundation. The surrounding cemetery was cool and silent and in some areas very old. The gravestones had once been inscribed, but time has erased anything written, and they sit quietly and in dignity solemnly attesting that someone lies buried below.
The silence was momentarily broken by a man's voice calling out from a distance in rhythmic cadences to a splashing sound. We looked at the river beyond, and there was a rowing crew gliding through the water.
We walked into the chapel and imagined how many of my ancestors worshipped there. Such a deep sense of reverence filled our souls.
We will visit there again, when I have been able to research a little more in depth about what they did here in this sleepy little village.
In the meantime, I will think about Stephen and Mary Elizabeth (who was fragile always it would seem) and the faith that led them to leave the home of their ancestors in a green and verdant part of the world to an unknown desert far away in the west.
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