During WWII. travel for pleasure was prohibited, as was shipping most consumer goods. By 1947, Cousin Jos. W. Buck, who had become interested in our family’s genealogy, contacted Peter Clinch Essex‘s descendants and threw a big dinner for them at London’s posh Brown’s Hotel. (Joe was a very successful attorney, who had Corning Glass Corp as a client.) He also wanted them to meet his daughter Cornelia, who was moving to England for a while. {I never met Cornelia, but we corresponded, had telephone conversations, and she’s the one who sent me the silhouette of Thomas Clinch.}
As a result, Peter’s son, Rev. Canon Edward Claude Essex (the subject of this post), was able to organize a series of annual summer trips to the US, staying at various cousins’ homes — sometimes for extended periods.
I’m not sure who all he stayed with, but I remember that Mable SHIPMAN Shaw was one, and our house was one of his favorite places to stay, sometimes for a month at a time. The previous owner was an avid gardener and had made its flower gardens a showplace. Because the property was on a knoll, and the property was almost an acre, Mrs. Brekenridge had bestowed upon it the name “Knoll Acre.” That delighted Cousin Claude, because so many homes in England, even cottages, have been given names. So, every time he wrote mom, or me, he would write the address as: 208 Park Ave., “Knoll Acre,” Binghamton, NY. No one else ever did that.
He missed the traditional English “fry-up” breakfast, where many different foods are cooked simultaneously in a large skillet. Not mixed together as we do for a breakfast casserole, but kept separate, and components, such as sausage are removed when ready and replaced with new ones. Of course, since he was cooking for just one, he had a lot less in his skillet. I was intrigued by his adding that English breakfast staple, fried tomatoes. I was used to seeing green tomatoes battered and fried at the end of the growing season. But I had never seen anyone fry perfectly good red tomatoes. When Mary and I finally got to England (long after he had died), we enjoyed the ample British breakfasts. Especially if accompanied by freshly baked scones served with jam or Devonshire cream. And their bacon, which we think of as “Canadian bacon.”
Food rationing had lasted longer in the U.K. than here, so it was a real treat for him to see fresh oranges. He loved snacking on them.
He was a “people person” — very gregarious, and loved conversation. He did his share of the talking, but did not monopolize it. He was thoroughly educated in classics (Latin, Greek & Hebrew), and knowledgeable on many topics. My mother was a huge fan of his, considering him an authority on everything. (My father had a very different point of view. Dad was a man of action — a man of few words. He considered conversation a waste of time — “just words.” So, he considered anyone who talked much as a windbag. And consigned them to the same category he did most folks — “damned fool.”)
My parents never held a “birds and bees” conversation with me, but as the next best thing, my mother had him give me his standard talk on the various sorts of women/girls. It involved comparing types of girls, using one’s shirt buttons as reference points.